Fallen
by Jessa4865
Summary: Sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same.  But not always. EO COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Fallen  
Jezyk  
Spoilers: Set after "Screwed" prior to any events of Season Nine  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the show. Lyrics quoted without permission.  
Warning: Strong language throughout.  
Specially dedicated to Amy, for being the best beta ever, because who knew betas were so hard to find. I so owe you one. J

AN: Fear not, this is NOT a songfic.

Chapter One  
Part I

_"It's one misstep, one slip, before you know it, and there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed  
__Though I've tried, I've fallen, I have sunk so low, I messed up, better I should know"  
__– Sarah McLachlan, Fallen _

"Jesus, Olivia, what the fuck am I supposed to do?" The ceramic mug hit the table with a dull thud, punctuating his sentence as though his choice of language was at all ambiguous.

Her eyes darted up warily, only briefly finding his before returning to pick out random patterns on the speckled surface of the table. She said nothing as she stirred the coffee he knew she had no intention of drinking. He'd ordered it out of habit, the way he had for years when their connection was so easy and comfortable, and she hadn't stopped him, as if perhaps she too missed their old selves. The closest thing to an answer he received was the vaguest shifting of her shoulders that could have been a shrug but more likely could be attributed to the friction between her leather coat and the vinyl booth.

He wondered why she was there when it was so clear that she'd prefer to be having a root canal. If it had been a few years earlier, he would have asked, confronted her about her attitude, demanded to know what was so important that she needed to be preoccupied while his life was upside down. But it wasn't a few years ago and a confrontation would likely end with Olivia disappearing for a week and refusing to answer her phone. He'd honestly rather be there, enduring her unspoken displeasure at being with him, than alone. Frankly, he was glad she'd agreed to his suggestion for coffee despite the late hour and the long day they'd had.

He ignored her silence and continued. He needed to let it out before he wound up screaming at Kathy. Kathy would make his life hell for it. Not that Olivia couldn't make his life hell if she wanted. She never bothered because it would make her life hell too. Bored or not, Olivia was sitting there, at least putting out the effort to listen, which was better than nothing. "Maureen is twenty-two. When I was her age, I had her already. My kids are old enough to have kids and here I am, starting over again." Stirring the coffee a little more violently than he should have caused a tidal wave of brown liquid to spill over the edge.

Olivia jumped to immediately wipe up the puddle with her napkin. Elliot hadn't even thought she was paying that much attention to him.

But as he watched her, he realized she'd probably only done so because some of the coffee had splashed onto her phone. Her attention was focused on cleaning the electronic device, painstakingly wiping off the keys, using her nail to dig around each one. She inspected her nail closely, smearing bits of makeup and grease and hair and who knew what else on another napkin. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so intent on anything; she'd certainly never been so focused on him.

"Liv?"

She shook the phone gently. Bits of dust and fuzz shook loose, much to her horror. Elliot suspected she would have the phone laminated by the morning. There was no indication that she'd heard her name.

"Look, Liv, George Clooney just walked in."

Evidently worried about the phone and uninterested in the star she'd once referred to as God's gift to women, Olivia furrowed her brow and lay the phone face down on a napkin. She began gently tapping the back, her fingers massaging the phone like it was a baby she was trying to burp.

It appeared to Elliot that she couldn't care less what was going on around her when she picked it up for another inspection. The corners of her lips turned up in a half smile at her work. She pressed a button and the phone happily beeped its agreement with her assessment.

He could feel pressure increasing in his head as he stared. He wondered if she'd notice if he threw his coffee in her face. Probably not, he decided, provided her precious phone wasn't affected. The damn phone, the one she'd once used primarily for work and, by extension, him was particularly irritating to him. Probably because the phone was that much more interesting than he was. Either that or because Simon and Porter were always calling her, seeming to constantly need the help or attention or time that Olivia was all too happy to give them. Elliot knew it was cruel that he much preferred it when Olivia had no one besides him, but it was true. It wasn't that he wanted her to be lonely; it was that he liked to be the most important person in someone's life. It had always been an ego boost and now that he was middle-aged and needed it the most, it was gone.

As soon as she'd finished cleaning the phone, she immediately became fascinated with the display. A growl rose in his throat.

"Are you even listening to me?" He'd specifically told himself not to challenge her, but his resolve weakened in the face of her obvious lack of interest in his crisis.

"Hmm?" Her eyes slowly lifted a bit, not enough to leave her phone. She was half listening and after a moment, his words clicked. Her eyes met his fully again. "Yes, I'm listening." It was instinct to deny it. She seemed to know her pause revealed her lie because she set the phone back on the table, distancing it considerably from Elliot's coffee just in case of another mishap. "I don't know what to say. I mean, you're back with Kathy, aren't you? Shouldn't you talk to your wife?"

He saw something flash in her eyes as she spoke the words, something painful and unexpected, something so palpable to him that he imagined it must have been devastating to her. For a moment her eyes widened. "Liv?" He leaned forward, pushing his abandoned coffee away with his forearm as he reached for her hand. All of his annoyance with her behavior disappeared instantly. Worrying about his partner pushed his problems to the back burner. "What? What's wrong?"

Her dismay disappeared as quickly as it had come. She shook her head and tried to smile. "I'm fine." She slid toward the edge of the booth before glancing at him. "Are we ready?" The question was simple and under any other circumstances Elliot would have blithely agreed. Instead, worry and fear and anxiety cemented his feet to the floor. His hand pulled back to close around his mug.

"Can I finish my coffee?" There were only about two lukewarm sips left since the flood had endangered her phone and he fervently hoped that had escaped her notice. Because what hadn't escaped his notice was that, despite her denial, Olivia clearly knew exactly what to say regarding his predicament. He didn't know if it was something he didn't want to hear or something she didn't want to say, but she definitely had something to say. He was as sure of that as he was of his own name.

It unnerved him deeply. Olivia was never afraid of saying anything, not to him. She'd been painfully tactless on more than one occasion and it was absolutely terrifying there was anything she deemed so inexcusable or so unforgivable that she checked herself. And that same something apparently also made her desperately want to get away from him.

Her eyes lighted briefly on his cup before closing, suggesting she was well aware there was little coffee left to drink. Her back sagged against the seat in defeat. "Sure." When her eyes opened again, they were clear. There was a resolve written on her face, but he couldn't quite read it. He just knew it was there. It scared him tremendously when her eyes found his again, even more so when she spoke.

She smiled at him, yet no emotion whatsoever reflected in her eyes. "I'm sure it'll be ok. You're a great father, El. You'll do it again." She looked down at her mug, letting her index finger slide back and forth over a chip in the stained beige ceramic that matched his. "You don't need me to tell you that." The lack of feeling and personality in her voice made him have to work to swallow.

He watched her for a long time, taking in the self-conscious changes that had only just become apparent. Her shoulders hunched forward, her arms pulled close to her sides, her eyes downcast, her perpetually bouncing leg which eagerly announced her unease to all the world. It was a stabbing pain in his gut that made him realize he was the source of her discomfort. He could feel his face twisting, contorting like some kind of circus act as the guilt rose up. There was something going on with her, that she couldn't or wouldn't tell him, that made his droning on about his personal life seem terribly thoughtless. His partner of nearly a decade was hiding something big from him. She didn't trust him. He felt like shit and, had she looked up, his face would have conveyed the message in no uncertain terms. His own gaze dropped while he berated himself for being self-centered.

The busboy chose that moment to stroll by their table, claiming both of their cups in an overzealous fit and throwing them in his gray plastic bin. The waitress appeared from nowhere and scolded him, apologized profusely to them after explaining that the boy was new, both to the job and the country, and brought them two new cups of steaming coffee, that time in mismatched mugs. Blue for Olivia, green for Elliot. He expected Olivia was going to start staring at her phone again since her replacement mug didn't appear to have any flaws for her to fixate on.

Elliot was glad for the refill and immediately reached for the sugar. Olivia, who he knew probably still had no intention of drinking her coffee, instinctively reached for the sugar as well. Their hands collided, knocking the jar onto its side. The contact was accidental and fleeting and monumental. Both jerked back as though burned. Olivia withdrew her hands, hiding them in her lap under the table where Elliot couldn't see the way her short nails dug into the denim of her jeans. Her shoulders curled even further forward, looking like she would have been in the fetal position if not for the table blocking her legs. Elliot's hand retreated to his mug, paying no mind to the burning sensation, as he wondered if he had the strength to shatter the mug one-handed. With the tension in his grasp, he suspected he was about to find out.

The jar of sugar rocked back and forth at an ever slowing rate, the sound of which rang out loudly in the piercing silence.

"So when are you moving home?" Her voice was almost normal and for a moment Elliot dared to wonder why the ridiculous mistake of brushing hands, a mistake they'd certainly made at least once in their partnership, could throw both of them into such a state of imbalance.

He buried that thought and reached for the sugar once again. His eyes refused to meet hers; they were locked on the jar and the tiny piece of metal that swung open when he tipped the jar over his coffee. He noticed that it remained locked open even after the jar was righted, the product of years of sugar build up around the tiny hinge. It irritated him that even the damn sugar didn't work the way it was supposed to anymore, just like every single other thing in his life. Setting the jar down with far more force than necessary, he was pleased to see the top flip back into place with a quiet squeak. If only other things could be fixed so easily.

He picked up his spoon and stirred, pretending the activity required all of his concentration. The plan was for him to move on Saturday. It was Thursday. Kathy had been so excited at the prospect of his return that she'd managed to rope all four kids into helping. Most of his things were already boxed, except for a few toiletries and clothing that would be left until the last minute. He'd sold almost all the furniture he'd been forced to buy so recently that he was still making payments on the store card he'd gotten in order to afford it in the first place. The only thing left was the couch, which he'd been sleeping and eating on for days. But he couldn't look at Olivia right then. He couldn't tell her either.

If he were being honest, he didn't want to tell her. But he wasn't being honest. Not with himself. Not with his wife. And most certainly, not with Olivia.

Or he wouldn't have been alone with her in a coffee shop in the middle of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He shrugged as he sipped at the burning liquid. He didn't dare even glance in Olivia's direction, not since she'd made it clear that she wanted to leave. His shoulders moved in a shrug. "I don't know." He could hear the reluctance in his voice and, although it could have had something to do with the blatant lie he was telling, he wanted Olivia to believe it had to do with the move. He couldn't have explained why if he'd wanted to. Luckily, he didn't want to.

He didn't know why he dreaded the idea of even mentioning that he'd decided when he was moving. He had no idea why he dreaded the day he'd eventually have to tell her he was back at home with his family. He couldn't fathom how Olivia figured into it at all. Family was family; work was work. Olivia had made it abundantly clear that the two did not mix.

Even so, he decided to postpone the move. Maybe so his words would be retroactively true. Maybe because she'd find out otherwise. Maybe because he wasn't quite ready to give up the rare and terribly precious late-night rendezvous with his partner. Maybe because he was certain that moving home would destroy their partnership once and for all, which just led to more questions he wasn't ready to face, let alone answer. He ignored them. It was easier.

Olivia didn't respond. Instead she returned to fiddling with her phone. She knew something. Something important. Something, Elliot suspected, that would make the maybes fall into place with a staggeringly decisive snap. He wished she would just say it. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she revealed the big mystery. It had worked on the sugar jar, maybe it would work on Olivia.

Olivia let out a sigh, her back slumping against the booth. He felt her boot hit his shoe as she stretched her legs under the table. To anyone else, it would seem that she was relaxed, but to him, that was clearly not the case. She was settling in for a fight. The notion that she was resigned to it, comfortable with it, not the slightest bit upset by the fact that the only conversations they had which didn't result in a fight were the ones that were interrupted by urgent phone calls, pissed Elliot off. His back tensed, his shoulders stiffened, and his arms folded across his chest. He didn't understand it. It made no sense. They both knew an argument was coming, but they weren't arguing yet. Still, they did nothing to avoid it. It was like the last second before a car crash, where there was really nothing else to do but watch and wonder just how bad it would be.

Her eyes narrowed, letting him know she was pissed off that he was making her start it. He wanted to suggest that she not give in, that they both walk away from it, but it was pointless. They were going to fight. That was how they parted ways most nights. Watching her, knowing he was watching their partnership disintegrate despite his pathetic efforts to save it, was like watching his marriage fall apart. It tore at him. It angered him. The tension in his body finally reached his head and he could feel his blood pressure rising. He could hear the rush of blood. He could feel the force in his head, a pain no pills would take away. The night Kathy had handed him a suitcase and demanded that he leave hadn't pissed him off so much. He refused to consider why that was.

He wondered, in the quiet, what she would finally latch onto that would burst the floodgates on the hostility. There were so many things, so many pointless, silly, inane things they'd fought over in recent months. He didn't even know where to start guessing. He'd been with her all night and she'd been fine. Tilting his head to the side, he thought better of it. She hadn't been fine, she'd been a bitch, but that was par for the course lately. He couldn't actually recall the last time she'd been decent to him.

Her eyes met his solidly, her stare painfully cold when it locked on his. The banal sounds of the diner faded out as he steeled himself for her initial jab. She didn't let him down; she never did. That just wasn't her style.

"It's not like you don't know where babies come from, Elliot. You could have prevented it." Even though he knew her almost casual tone delivered words intended to start a fight, he admired the delivery, the virtuousness with which she stabbed him through the heart. "I mean, I've made some mistakes over the years, but not that many."

She was nothing if not good, but the anger rose up faster than the amazement. "My children are not mistakes." He knew his eyes were burning with hate at that moment, at that statement.

Her eyes remained icy. She didn't even blink while her voice remained completely even and innocent. She was pretending she didn't know she'd hit below the belt. "Were any of them planned?"

He hated that she knew him so well. He hated that she knew all of his kids had been surprises. Pleasant surprises, he corrected. He'd never said as much to her, never admitted that he'd ever been so stupid and immature and selfish that he'd been more concerned with his own pleasure than his future, but she knew. That magical ability she had to read his mind on the job extended into personal details he wished he knew how to hide from her.

His voice was nearly a growl as he replied, unable to formulate a new answer. "My children are not mistakes."

Her icy stare melted into a proud smile. She'd gotten him completely riled up with a few choice sentences and she could still argue that she hadn't started it. "You said you wanted to talk, Elliot. So talk. I'm not going to sit here and argue semantics with you."

Implying that his kids were mistakes driven by hormone-blinded rutting was hardly arguing semantics, but there was nothing he could say. Even if he hadn't been too angry to speak, anything he said would be hateful and mean and then Olivia could run away and proclaim that she'd been deeply wounded when she'd been the one wielding the knife. Knowing how the fight was predetermined to go, the rage boiled over. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to pound his fists into something hard and unyielding until the pain in his hands overwhelmed the rage in his head. But he was used to Olivia talking him down when he got like that. He was used to her driving him home when his hands were too swollen to move. He was used to her at least offering. Everything was backwards and upside down. Olivia wasn't supposed to make him want to hit something. Her smile wasn't supposed to make him seethe with fury. She wasn't supposed to think his kids were mistakes.

"Can I get you folks something else?"

He'd been so intent on keeping his control that he hadn't noticed the waitress' approach. Her soft voice caused him to jump, inadvertently knocking his leg into Olivia's.

Olivia laughed softly as she looked up at the waitress, not bothering to move her leg away from his. "No, we're good. Thanks." He almost respected her ability to lie so convincingly, except he was wholly distracted by the feel of her leg pressing, sliding against his. He suspected her amusement stemmed from knowing he was concentrating on something as unmentionable as physical contact and that only served to piss him off more.

He could feel the veins bulging out of his neck. A few minutes earlier he'd been bemoaning the loss of their friendship, lamenting the pain he read in her features. She'd cut him to the quick mercilessly and wasn't even pretending to be apologetic. He tried to convey just how much he hated her in that moment with his glare. But the longer he stared, the more it seemed that her sudden good humor was simply a testament to her acting skills. In a second, he realized he wasn't looking at Olivia Benson. He was locking horns with Rachel Martin, the chameleon, the beautiful woman who was perfectly suited to any role necessary, and completely insincere in all of them. He'd been right to think that Olivia would never use his children against him; he blamed it all on Rachel. It was her other personality, the woman she became when she needed to be something she wasn't.

He forgave her. It was the first time he'd seen a crack in her armor. It was the first time one of their silent standoffs hadn't been interrupted by a well-meaning friend or an over-interested boss. He wished he'd realized it sooner. He opened his mouth to say something, to apologize for words he hadn't said, to tell her he didn't want to fight anymore.

But she was on her feet, halfway to the door, before his words formed. The sudden departure threw him as he realized his desire to make peace had surely been written on his face and she'd ignored it. He fumbled in his pocket for cash, grumbling that she'd, as always, left him with the check, even though she made plenty of money for a single woman while he was supporting a family. He'd always suspected that was part of the reason she had more leather jackets than he had pairs of socks – because she'd never paid for a meal or cup of coffee or anything she could possibly skip out on in her life and because she'd made a practice of hanging around simps like him who would gladly pay in exchange for her attention.

He tossed a five on the table and chased after her. If she wanted to fight, he would fight. But he'd be damned if he was going to let her ditch him.

He caught up with her by the corner. "If you wanted to avoid me, you should have taken a cab."

She looked annoyed, which he took as a bonus since it meant the actress was gone. "I don't take cabs." She tried to make it sound like they were below her, but he knew the truth.

"You have to pay for those."

She stopped walking, digging in her pocket for loose change. "What do I owe you? Fifty cents? A dollar?" And somehow, by offering to pay her share of a check that hadn't been two bucks, she made a decade of free meals sound petty.

"You should have been a lawyer. You would have been great at it."

"Is that supposed to mean I'm not a good cop?"

"That's not what I said." He inwardly groaned at his own stupidity for saying something that she could so easily ramp up into another fight. "I just meant you can spin a line of bull."

Her face froze, cracked for a second, and he chided himself for hurting her. He wasn't really mad at her. The whole reason they had been out, the whole reason he was really chasing her, was that he wanted to talk to her. He needed to talk to her because she was his best friend; continual squabbling aside, she was the one whose opinion helped form his own. He could talk to her when he couldn't talk to anyone else.

He felt like an ass, but he knew better than to give voice to that thought. She'd run with it. She'd run all the way to her apartment with it and slam the door in his face. He stood there, his body facing her while his eyes followed an off-duty cab down the block.

"Let it go, Liv, I don't even know what we're fighting about. I just wanted to talk to you." There he was the one who'd been insulted, the one who still wanted to dispute the idea that his kids were accidents, and he was the one apologizing. But he had to be. Otherwise she'd leave him there to argue semantics with himself. He didn't want an apology from her; he knew she hadn't meant it. After ten years she knew how to push his buttons and she was damn good at it. She was trying to avoid talking to him, trying to avoid him altogether, and he was sure it had to do with whatever revelation she'd faced in that silent moment, whatever had so obviously scared her, whatever was so desperately driving her to get away from him. If a half-hearted apology was what it took to get the damn thing out of her, then he could beg for forgiveness all night.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: _Thanks for the reviews!_

Her eyes searched his, darting back and forth between his own until he felt dizzy trying to follow them. Then she slumped back against the brick wall behind her. Her arms crossed over her chest and Elliot couldn't help but notice the way her stance pushed her breasts together, deepening the cleavage visible in the v-neck of her sweater. Her eyes were thankfully busy staring at her boots, allowing Elliot's unintentional, appreciative stare to go unnoticed.

He wanted to laugh as he recalled his current conundrum, the baby he hadn't foreseen the last time he'd given in to a primitive urge like the one that had risen while he stared at his partner's chest, the same one that had paid far too much attention to the way her leg had briefly rested against his. Instead he turned to stare back at the dingy windows of the diner. The blinking sign announcing the 24-hour breakfast was calling to him. The bright lights, the easy chatter of the waitress if one was so inclined, the particularly bitter coffee, even the overzealous busboy – it all sounded much safer than where he was standing. But the reason why eluded him as Olivia shifted slightly.

She looked defeated. "You don't want to talk to me. Every time we talk it ends up in a shouting match."

He closed his eyes and wondered again why that had to be the case and, since it did apparently have to be the case, why he did still want to talk to her. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't want to talk to you about it, Liv."

She shook her head slowly, as though the effort was a great burden. "You got mad when I asked what you were going to do, so you clearly weren't looking for my advice."

He hated that she made it sound like he needed guidance, like he was too damn stupid to figure it out for himself. He hated that she brought to mind that day at the courthouse when she'd run off in the middle of a conversation to hold Simon's hand. His voice was full of resentment when he spat his words back at her. "I wasn't asking for advice. I was just talking to you, you know, like partners do sometimes when they run out of things to scream about."

Her body language told him that she was tired. It was reasonable; they'd been together for almost nineteen hours and there were nowhere near enough hours before they were due at work again. She ran a hand through her hair and ignored his words. "El, I'm tired. I want to go home. Can we pick this up in the morning?" She was trying to stop the fight, like he had moments earlier.

He didn't doubt her veracity for a second. Not only did she look tired, but her lack of attention to the fact that they weren't actually talking about anything gave it away as well. But there was some part of him that was still burned about her calling his kids a mistake, though, and evidently that part of him controlled his mouth. He was still pissed off and he changed his mind about making peace.

"Why? Do you need to help Simon hide a body or something?"

Even in the dim yellow light from the streetlamp, he could see her face pale. He'd evened that night's score in one sentence. He refused to feel bad and reminded himself that his words were much more legitimate than hers had been regarding his children. Simon had, by all accounts, been a rapist when she'd helped him run, even after telling Elliot to fuck off for suggesting that she would do such a thing.

She pushed off the wall and squared her shoulders. "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean? He was framed and you know it. You heard the whole thing!"

He realized the pride she'd felt in the diner when he had to fight to keep a smile off his face. It wasn't nearly as twisted and sick as he'd originally thought. No, it was simply satisfying to know she still cared enough to be upset by something he said, even if he had to dig deep to find anything mean enough. He shrugged at her, pretending to be indifferent as he stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. "You didn't know that when you aided and abetted."

"I knew he wasn't a rapist. He's my brother."

He snorted and couldn't stop his derisive laugh. "Yeah, your brother. Right, whatever you say." It pissed him off the way she touted her genetic link to the complete stranger. Nearly everything about her seemed to piss him off, to frustrate the crap out of him.

She glared at him and he knew she wanted to slap him. "DNA doesn't lie, Elliot. Or perhaps you forget that's what we use to convict people all the time."

He leaned in, using his height over her to try to be intimidating. It was an easy way he could feel he had the advantage in a fight with her and so, it was something he rarely did. "Family is about a hell of a lot more than DNA, Olivia. I'm more family to you than he is." Had he given his own words any thought, he might have realized what all the fighting was really about. But like anyone in the midst of a heated argument, he barely had control over the words that came out. Understanding couldn't be had while adrenaline was pumping.

Olivia was no closer to truly hearing his words; instead she heard that she had no family, that she was as alone as she'd ever feared. Fury welled up and lashed out, dealing the kind of pointed blow that only anger could produce. "Then you shouldn't have any qualms with taking care of Kathy's little problem, huh, Elliot? It's just fucking DNA, right? It's not real, is it? It's hardly family if it's only God-damned blood! Get rid of the damn thing; problem solved."

The rage that he could never quite keep under wraps exploded like white-hot fire burning in his veins. He saw red and did something he'd never done, something he'd never thought himself capable of – he raised his hands to a woman in anger. He grabbed Olivia's upper arms, gripping them tight while his immediate anger burned off enough to realize what he was doing. He hated himself for touching her, for allowing himself to get so mad that he could ever lose control while he faced a woman. But even as he condemned himself for touching her, he felt something stir.

That unidentifiable thing, the elusive emotion that seemed to rule all of his interaction with Olivia anymore, the driving force behind all the confusion and hurt and anguish and anger, made itself clear. Touching her, the most taboo act of all, regardless of why, brought it all to the surface. He could feel the softness of her sweater, the solid muscle underneath the softness. He could smell her perfume. He could feel his body reacting to her proximity, the real reaction, the one that had always been hidden behind propriety. It hit him like a ton of bricks.

Jesus fucking Christ. He wanted her. He wanted her like he'd never wanted anyone or anything in his life.

That illuminating fact took only a fraction of a second to occur to him. But it felt like forever.

Although some degree of fear reflected in Olivia's wide eyes, Elliot knew she trusted him, even when he lost control. Secure in her physical safety and unaware of what was going on in her partner's head, she used the time he was stunned to try to goad him some more. "What are you going to do, Elliot? Hit me? Will that make it all better? Go ahead, do it!"

All she needed was an attempt, a raised hand, even the impression that he was going to, and she would be justified in decking him. She wanted to hit him, he could tell. She wanted to pummel him, which he suspected was to let out the frustration, the source of which he'd only just discovered. She was looking for the smallest window of opportunity to release the tension. But she didn't get the chance. He wanted a release as well and he knew hitting her wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as the other choice that struck him.

He felt himself closing in, expecting her to make some attempt to avoid him. His grip on her arms steadied him as his body leaned into hers, his weight pressing her body into the brick. His hands moved of their own volition from her arms and into her hair, holding her face still as his lips closed over hers.

It was not a gentle kiss. His mouth was hard, his lips hurt from the pressure he was applying and he knew she felt the same. It was only when he thought his teeth would break right through his skin that he let up even a little, and that was only long enough to open his mouth and slide his tongue against hers. He didn't know, or care just then, if her mouth was open from shock or desire. He just knew that it was and he needed to take advantage of it. He knew there was a very real possibility that she'd shoot him the first chance she got and so he was going to take what he could get while he could get it.

Content that she wasn't trying to get away, he moved his hands, sliding them down, over her shoulders and arms, until he found her hips. His body was holding hers against the wall, but she was too far away. The rough surface of the bricks scratched his knuckles as his fingers wormed their way behind her. He pulled her hips against his, shifting himself slightly to the side to allow one of his knees to slip between hers. There was no way for him to pretend it was unintentional as he pressed his aroused body against hers.

It did strike him then that he might have gone too far, that his temper had allowed him to violate Olivia in the basest way imaginable, that his wrath had been unleashed in a way that made him a monster. But he'd only lightened up the pressure the slightest bit when he felt her nails clawing through his shirt. He noticed that at some point her arms had wrapped around him, securing his body to hers, clinging to him to preserve the contact. It seemed she knew the truth behind the anger too. And for the first time in a long time, they were on exactly the same page.

The idea was so preposterous that he actually started to chuckle. His hands moved from her hips, closing around her waist in a more relaxed hold, but a hold nonetheless.

Her head jerked back, smacking into the wall behind her. One of her hands abandoned its hold on Elliot's shirt in favor of rubbing the sore spot. "What the hell is so funny?" She sounded annoyed, but he was sure it was only covering fear that he was laughing at her.

He shifted his forehead against hers, reveling in the feel and scent and taste of her. "Nothing." His mouth found hers again, offering a gentle, delicate kiss, the polar opposite of the first one he'd bestowed on her. It was almost miraculous that they, two people who were prone to using their mouths to injure and insult and incense, particularly with each other, could share such tenderness. It amazed him – that he was actually kissing his partner, that she was actually letting him, that he'd never realized how very attracted he was to her, that he'd ever been able to ignore the painfully intense desire he had to touch her.

They used to flirt. Not all the time, but enough. She was attractive; she was single. He always rationalized the flirting, figuring she'd be insulted if he didn't acknowledge her looks from time to time. But somewhere along the line, it changed. They'd spent too many years together, and just like his relationship with Kathy, the good, fun parts of his relationship with Olivia were few and far between, damn near extinct. He'd long since given up the notion of trying to flirt with her; he hadn't dared chance her reaction to something that would leave him vulnerable like that. Not with her habit of lashing out at him over even the most innocent of comments.

If he'd even suspected how she would welcome his advances, he might have made a move years earlier, if only to spare them the toll from years of denying their attraction to one another.

His lips angled over hers, deepening the kiss once again. Her hands moved over his back, sliding up, then moving around his neck. He felt her fingers sifting through his short hair. His hold tightened in response. One of his arms remained secure around her waist, holding her to him; the other hand found the hem of her sweater, slowly moving beneath it to caress her skin.

She tried to press closer to him and he would have let her, had it been physically possible. She wasn't at all deterred by her failed attempt. She changed tactics, bending her right knee to give him better access. He wasn't about to disappoint her. He readily accepted the opportunity to push his leg further between hers. His hips shifted against hers as his thigh rubbed her in the most intimate of ways. He was trying to give her the friction she was seeking, trying to enjoy the increased pressure himself, but it just wasn't enough. His left hand pulled back from under her sweater, hooking under her knee and lifting it up higher. She liked that suggestion, he realized, as he felt her calf wrap around his leg. The heel of her boot was digging into the back of his knee, revealing how much she enjoyed the sensation and painfully holding him in place.

Not that there was anywhere else he wanted to go.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: _Thanks for the reviews! They are always welcome!_

His left hand moved back to her hip and, using the pocket of her jeans as leverage, he yanked her hard against him, thrusting his hips forward in the same movement, feeling the heat radiating off her body as it moved over his leg. Her nails dug into his scalp. He heard a whimper, but he couldn't swear which one of them had made the sound. His lips traveled along her jaw and kissed their way down her throat. As he worked his way back up, he nibbled gently on her ear. She sighed and sagged against him.

He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh. It was instinct, he supposed, something innate in the psyche of all men. There was a beautiful woman in his arms, logic overruled by desire, responding to his touch. It was a rush, realizing that there had been something else underlying all the heated anger he'd felt toward her – desire, pure and simple. He'd wanted her. And she'd wanted him. And, once acknowledged, they wanted, needed, the release.

But fondling Olivia against a wall on a street within a few blocks of where they worked wasn't going to cut it. And even though he'd never been closer to actually having sex in public, he couldn't, wouldn't, do that to Olivia. She deserved better.

He feared that she would change her mind, despite her cooperation until that point. He moved his lips off her skin far enough to speak, leaving the rest of his body in place, in contact with hers at every possible juncture allowed by law in public. His intention was to keep her distracted to the point where she would be unable to do anything but agree, just in case. Just in case she might say no with the slightest window to think. Just in case she might decide to slap him for grabbing her. Just in case she might ask why he didn't suggest his place, which was closer, because he didn't want to admit that he'd lied to her about moving, that his bed was long gone, and that he was really getting too old to have sex on a sofa even if she uncharacteristically didn't care that he'd lied to her.

"I think we should move this to your place."

Due to his plan or hormones or something else he hadn't considered, she nodded. Her hair tickled his cheek as she did. He reached up, threading his fingers through it as he pulled her back for another kiss. He was nervous, more anxious than he'd been in a long time. They'd been sparring with each other for so long that it was nerve-wracking to let her see behind his walls. And, quite frankly, he was disturbed by the way she did the same. He didn't want to see the woman beneath the ubiquitous barbs. He didn't want to know she could be so delicate and yielding to his direction because that would only make him feel bad for all the awful things he'd ever said to her.

He'd never had sex with a woman without letting his guard down. He wasn't sure it was possible. But then, his experience came from his years of being with one woman. He really wasn't sure how things worked for other people and at his age, it would be far too embarrassing to ask.

His lips lingered on hers, trying to turn off any thoughts besides ones involving physical awareness. When it came down to it, he trusted Olivia with his life, he would trust her with his body too. And he knew that if she ever tried to use it against him, it would backfire on her – she couldn't report his indiscretion without revealing her own.

He pulled back, refusing to give in to the sudden shyness that wanted him to avert his eyes. Instead he stared at her as he stepped away, silently telling her to say no while begging her to say yes. She blinked a few times, the almost lost expression on her face reminding him of those confusing moments in the diner when she'd refused to say whatever was really on her mind. He would have questioned her, but it wasn't worth another argument. Not when there were better ways for them to work out the frustration. Not when he was fairly certain that he would die if she backed away.

The corners of her lips quirked up the slightest bit as she reached for his hand. She didn't seem like Olivia, at least, not the fierce, unflappable detective he knew so well. He decided it was a good thing for them to break down their walls simultaneously, even if it was only for a short time. As long as they were concerned with protecting their vulnerable underbellies, they wouldn't get distracted by attacking one another. He threaded his fingers through hers and started walking.

There were no more words between them, even when they reached her bedroom. The closest they got were strings of incoherent guttural moans. Had he ever thought about it, he would have expected some awkwardness, some discomfort in changing the roles they'd played with each other for so long. But there was none. Like at work, they moved together seamlessly, reading and understanding and responding automatically. They worked together perfectly, discarding the physical barriers between them as quickly as they shed the psychological ones. Perhaps because he'd been with Kathy for so long, perhaps because he'd consummated his relationship with Kathy long before the craving could fester to the point it had with Olivia, but whatever the cause, the result was an unfathomable heightening of his senses. It felt like his first time – better, actually. Much, much better. Olivia didn't need to ask what to do or what he liked. She seemed to know what he wanted before he even knew it. In his favor, he was skilled as well with somehow knowing how to render Olivia limp in his arms with the lightest touch. Even in the quiet afterwards, when Elliot figured it would most likely happen, they didn't have the embarrassing moment of realizing what they had done and wishing they hadn't done it.

He wanted to lay there in the quiet and relax, enjoy being satiated, revel in the aftermath of, hands down, the best sex he'd ever had. She didn't try to have a deep, meaningful conversation. She didn't even try to snuggle up to him. He watched as she rolled away from him onto her side, tucking her hands under the pillow, leaving her feet where they were just brushing his.

"Night, El." She sounded like herself, like his partner. Even though she was lying naked beside him and undoubtedly still feeling phantom touches of his body on hers that he was. He'd never known such understanding, such complete harmony was possible with anyone, let alone with Olivia.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, smiling at her back. His partner was something else. Something fantastic. Something unbelievably wonderful. "Night, Liv."

It was amazing. Not just the sex, but the ease between them. What should have been uncomfortable and tense and stressful wasn't. As he drifted off to sleep, he knew it was something they should have done sooner.

Her alarm woke him the next morning. She hadn't moved a muscle during the scant hours of rest, not even when the buzzing threatened to drive Elliot out of his mind. He reached over her, his chest pressing into her side, pushing every button he could find until one finally silenced the noise. As he shifted back to his side of the bed, he thought about kissing her awake. He wasn't sure of the protocol for the morning after a one-night stand with a co-worker. He grinned when he remembered Cassidy, when he realized he was with someone who was familiar with it, which he eventually decided did not include kisses in the morning. Instead, his hand brushed her shoulder in what would have been a chaste touch had either of them been wearing any clothes. "Come on, Liv. Time to get up."

She grunted and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. "I'm tired."

"You should have thought of that before you stayed up to all hours having mind-blowing sex with your partner." In the moment after it left his mouth, he feared he'd said the wrong thing. He waited for her to get angry, to yell at him for reminding her, to do anything but what she did.

She lifted her head to look at him and laughed. "Yeah, well, whose idea was that?"

Realizing that the tension, the potential for more misery between them, was really gone, Elliot smiled back at her. He was surprisingly happier than he'd ever been. "You have to admit it was one of my better ones."

"Ok, Einstein, I'll give you that." She burrowed back into the pillow, either not knowing or not caring that the sheet had slipped down below the curve of her hip. "Wake me in fifteen minutes."

Elliot barely heard her; his mind was occupied with trying to memorize how beautiful and inviting she looked. His eyes followed the soft lines of her back down to the deep curve of her hips then back up to the point where her dark hair obscured her face. He wished he'd kissed her when he'd thought about it. Fuck the protocol, he still wanted her. He knew, somehow, that if he gave in to the urge to touch her she would be just as welcoming as she had been the night before. Receptive and eager and agreeable. It was hardly a discouraging thought.

It occurred to him suddenly and mercilessly that he had, just as with Kathy, completely forgotten about any sort of birth control. Kathy had always been on the pill, except for those times she'd wanted another baby. It wasn't that he thought it was her responsibility; it was simply that she'd always taken the responsibility on herself. Elliot figured it would take more than two nights for him to change a habit of thirty years. His blood ran cold thinking about it. He couldn't even process the possibility. He'd never thought of himself as the type of guy who could knock up two different women at the same time, but the truth behind Olivia's words the night before was clear. He couldn't face the reproach from her if he asked. He sat up, deciding to check her medicine cabinet for evidence that she was taking something before he panicked.

As he picked up his pants, he shook his head at his stupidity. Birth control was something a man needed to think about if he was going to cheat on his wife. Or even if he just wanted to limit his children to five. The thought caused reality to strike him like a bucket of ice water. That fifth kid - and his wife - were due at a doctor's appointment in an hour.

"Shit." He yanked on his pants and had his shirt on before Olivia could even lift her head from the pillow. "Shit shit shit."

"What?"

Sitting back down, he pulled on one sock and shoe. "Jesus, I'm a fucking idiot."

"Elliot, what is it?" There was concern in her voice, concern that she'd offended him or that he was angry at her. Her voice was small for the first time since he'd known her.

His frenzy stopped as he turned to look at her, seeing her confusion at his activity. "I forgot I'm supposed to drive Kathy to her ultrasound. I have to get all the way to Queens and back in rush hour." His words were factual. They weren't meant to be cold or hard, but he realized they were when he saw Olivia's expression. She looked shocked for a second before hurt took over. She turned away suddenly and Elliot knew, of all the possible things he could have done to fuck up the peaceful morning, he'd done the worst.

"Liv-"

She shook her head as she got up. "Don't worry about it. I need to get up anyway." She displayed no modesty as she walked across the room, letting him see her body, but not her face.

He stood up, taking a step to follow her. "Liv, wait."

"See you at work." The bathroom door closed before he got there.

Angry at himself for being so stupid, he sat back down on the bed and curled his hands into tight fists. He wanted to hit something again, but that time he knew it wasn't Olivia's fault. It was completely his own. The agony he'd seen on Olivia's face was startling. They weren't having an affair; it wasn't moonlight and roses. It was sex, a release of tension that had built up until it was unmanageable. Pure physical attraction. The night before hadn't been about love; it had been about lust and easing the friction between them. But the look on her face, the pain in her eyes, indicated that she'd thought something else.

Damn her for changing the rules after the game had started. Damn her for making him lose control in the first place. Damn her for not being the strong, detached woman she'd spent a decade purporting to be.

He stood up, fury replacing the guilt in his mind. He was going to follow her right through the door and tell her that it was all her fault in the first place that he'd cheated on his wife. She'd let him think it would be easy and that everything would be better in the end. She'd neglected to mention that she expected a marriage proposal or a declaration of undying love or an intimate conversation over heart-shaped pancakes.

As he approached the door, it opened. Her face peeked out, washed clean of the makeup she'd been wearing, emotions hidden behind the steely mask he'd grown familiar with in recent years. "Lock the door when you leave."

The words he'd intended to hurl at her died on his lips. If there was one thing he'd learned in the past few years, it was that a pissed off Olivia had potentially bad ramifications on his career. The last thing he needed was Olivia running to Cragen, telling the boss who-knew-what. "I think we need to talk about this."

She didn't even blink. "I think you're going to be late."

"Come on, Liv. Did you really think I was going to leave her?" His exasperation sounded through in his voice before he could stop it.

"Of course not." She sounded so indignant that Elliot thought he'd misread her, that maybe she wasn't all that pissed off after all. He thought perhaps he was just facing a grumpy, sleep-deprived Olivia with no caffeine in her system.

"I've never done this before. I don't know what the rules are. I'm sorry." He hoped she wasn't angry, that he'd been wrong about the emotions that prompted her to seek refuge in the bathroom.

Her eyes searched his. "Do you actually need to be told not to mention your wife while you're in bed with another woman?"

Exactly as with the check from the diner, her words made him feel like an ass. She was always at her most logical when he was at his most emotional. Sometimes their differences made them a good team; sometimes they just hurt like hell. He hung his head, glad that she hadn't thrown him out. At least she didn't sound quite as angry anymore. "I wasn't thinking, Liv." He looked back up at her, expecting to see some sort of understanding because she didn't make a practice of sleeping with married men anymore more than he cheated on his wife.

Instead he saw the stone-faced, emotionless detective who listened to countless reports of brutality every day and didn't crack. "I'm on the pill, just in case you were worried. Not that you ever think of those things."

The words barely had time to register before she slammed the door. The shower started immediately, drowning any response he might have made. He didn't bother to try again. He recognized futility when it kicked him in the gut. He finished dressing as quickly as he could, both to avoid another exchange with Olivia and to get Kathy to the doctor's without being too late. There was no point in making Kathy mad at him, not when he was going to have to face an angry Olivia at work. Not when he knew that tension, the tension that had been lacking for a few sweet hours, was going to be back with a vengeance.


	5. Chapter 5

AN:_ Thanks for the reviews! _

Chapter Five

Emerging from the darkness of Olivia's unlit apartment into the bright sunshine of the morning rush hour was particularly jarring to Elliot. He wasn't in the mood for a bright, happy looking day. Slightly more jarring was the abrupt realization that, since he and Olivia had walked to her place, he not only had to fight traffic to Queens and back downtown, but he also had to fight through the throngs of people to get back to the precinct where he'd left his car the previous night. The idea of it seemed so exhausting that he nearly called Kathy to say he couldn't make it.

It would really suck for him to still be standing there when Olivia left for work; that proved to be even more motivating than facing an angry Kathy. Stifling a groan, he squinted unhappily and started on his way. Normally walking, especially in a stressful situation, helped Elliot to clear his head. It was, however, not the day for thinking, as his thoughts were stuck on Olivia, particularly the night with Olivia, the way her mouth fit against his, the way her body moved under his, the way her hands felts exploring his body. He shook his head violently and swore to himself that he would not relive the encounter with Olivia – not when he was alone, not when he was with his wife, not when he was with Olivia at work that afternoon, not ever, period.

It took all of his concentration to not think about it. Preoccupation with a personal situation was not usually something that Elliot suffered well; however, focusing on not focusing on sleeping with Olivia did prevent him from thinking about the fight they'd had and the possible ramifications of that fight.

By the time he started the car, he did grasp one undeniable fact – that he was going to have one of the worst days of his life. Not only because of the imbroglio with his partner, but also because his wife was going to be good and pissed at him for being late. In a pathetic attempt to pre-empt another fight, he turned on the heater, warming the car to a temperature slightly warmer than he would consider comfortable. He tugged at his collar as he pulled up the driveway, allowing his thoughts to wander as close to the unmentionable as he dared to hope Kathy would simply laugh at his ineptitude with an iron rather than question if he'd worn the same clothes the day before.

That single thought threatened to be his undoing as he immediately felt like Olivia had invaded his mind, his car, his personal space. He turned to check the seat beside him, stupidly expecting his partner's presence. Forcing out a smile as his wife made her way down the front steps, Elliot took a deep breath and nearly choked. Just as Kathy pulled open the door to get in, Elliot realized precisely why he couldn't shake Olivia from his thoughts – he could smell her on his clothes, on his skin. His clothes seemed to have been steeped in her perfume and the oppressive heat in the car only exacerbated the smell.

Panic overwhelmed him as he met Kathy's eyes. Certainly his wife of over twenty years would notice the fairly overpowering evidence of his infidelity. He was sure she would even be able to place the scent – that she would recognize it as Olivia's – because Kathy had be around Olivia quite a few times over the years. He steeled himself for an attack, one he actually felt he deserved.

Instead, Kathy smiled brightly at him. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it. Traffic must be bad this morning." Her blonde head turned away as she reached for the seat belt over her right shoulder. "You remember where Dr. Morgan's office is, right?"

Shocked by her atypically cheerful attitude, Elliot mumbled something vaguely like half-hearted agreement as he pulled into the street. Olivia's perfume still threatened to choke him and he rolled the window down in an effort to keep his luck from running out. The crisp air smelled fresh as he inhaled. He hoped Kathy's morning sickness would benefit from the fresh air as well, which would give him an excuse to keep it open.

A minute later Kathy pulled a yellow folder from the plastic bag she'd brought. "I've been doing a lot of research in the past few days." She paused as she shuffled through the multitude of papers inside the folder. "Could you put that up, Elliot? It's so nice and cozy in here."

Grimacing, he complied. He thought about making an excuse, claiming he wasn't feeling well, demanding that he be allowed to leave the window open, but he knew words would fail him if he tried to speak. He did his best to keep his expression neutral, to maintain a normal look on his face, but neutrality was something he decided could only occur naturally since his lips seemed to twist involuntarily into a snarl despite his best attempts otherwise.

"Would you believe I haven't been sick at all this time? I never knew pregnancy could be so easy!"

He desperately wanted to ask her if she was taking some sort of drugs because he barely recognized the excited, pleasant woman beside him. He hadn't seen that side of her in over a decade. "That's good." His intent was to sound like he meant it, but he wasn't at all sure that was how it came out.

He felt her eyes turn toward him, taking a long, hard look at him. His heart began to pound; Kathy had to have noticed something. His mind flashed to a memory of Olivia, the feel of her hair soft against his chin as her lips sucked on his neck, on the right side where Kathy was staring. He hadn't ever feared having a hickey in his life, but the possibility seemed to be a cruel certainty. His heart pounded in his chest, waiting for Kathy to make her move.

"Are you all right, honey?"

The term of endearment hurt, stabbing at his chest with a sharpness only guilt could create. He wished there had been a hickey. If Kathy was angry and yelling at him, he wouldn't have felt nearly so guilty. He winced and concentrated on the bumper of the car in front of him, which apparently contained the proud parent of an honor student. The irritating yellow sticker reminded him of the first year Lizzie had the honor. She'd proudly displayed the sticker to the whole family at dinner while Dickie scowled unhappily. Elliot had opted for the supportive role, congratulating his youngest daughter on her achievement. His choice had left Kathy with the chiding side, telling Dickie he needed to play fewer video games if he wanted the same honor. Dickie announced that honor students were dorks and that he never wanted to be one; Lizzie taunted him with the sticker, insisting that he was jealous. Dickie had the last word on the disagreement later that night when he affixed the prized sticker to the bottom of the kitchen trash can. Kathy had once again taken the tough role, taking away Dickie's video games for the following week. Elliot had remained silent, thanking the universe for sparing him the embarrassment of actually having to put that horrid sticker on his car.

The sound of a horn jarred him back to the present, reminding him that he needed to propel the car forward an inch of two. He put his window down again, intent on informing the cursing executive behind him that he was a cop and maybe firing back some of his own colorful language. Kathy's hand fell on his arm.

"Don't, Elliot. You were a little distracted."

Elliot put the window back up, wishing he could have vented a bit of his mood on someone who wouldn't be able to come back at him. "Sorry." He threw a glance at the woman who had once meant the world to him.

She smiled happily. "Daydreaming about the baby?" She didn't wait for an answer as she thrust one of the papers at him. "I already started thinking of names. There are a million names I'd love for a boy, but I made a list of girls' names too, just in case. Can you imagine us having another girl?"

He turned on the radio to drown out the voice in his head, the nagging one that informed him his lack of enthusiasm over the baby had absolutely nothing to do with Olivia. Regardless of Olivia's assertion that it wasn't anything but a bunch of DNA, Elliot knew he should share some of the joy so evident in Kathy's world. Elliot had never approved of abortion, not with his faith; he'd always believed adoption was the best option if parents were unable to care for their own child. But he'd never been able to understand how a person could give up their baby, no matter the circumstance – hell, Olivia's mother hadn't given her up and that was as good a reason as he could imagine to do so.

But the stark reality struck him as he fought through the traffic - he was finally able to understand how a person could give up a baby. Kathy's voice settled into a ceaseless drone, a non-stop cataloging of the perils of pregnancy after thirty-five, and he couldn't make himself worry about all the things that could go wrong. He couldn't make himself feel the happiness that was oozing out of Kathy's smile. He felt no attachment whatsoever to her or the baby and some part of him blamed Olivia for it. Pulling into the office parking lot, he decided the ultrasound would make all the difference. He would be able to see the baby, his baby. It would be real then; he would feel the connection.

Kathy took hold of his left hand on their way into the office. He gave up his attempts to smile at her and aimed instead on not looking sick. He recalled the times he'd been at Dr. Morgan's in the past. He remembered how excited he'd been each and every time. He hadn't needed pictures or proof to be excited then, but he'd been a younger man and still had some faith left in the world. While Kathy was checking in, he was thinking of Olivia's declaration that he'd be a great father to his newest child. While Kathy was updating her medical history, he was wondering if Olivia's faith in him would be enough to make it so.

The office was familiar, despite the fifteen year gap since his last visit. The same, or quite similar, gray striped wallpaper. The same mauve chairs with well worn armrests. The same drab gray carpet, worn thin in spots by the door and the desk. The same array of outdated magazines, various parenting and pregnancy fashions for the moms, a lone golf magazine for the dads. It was so much like it had been all those years ago that he firmly believed it would have all the power it needed to transform him into the man he'd once been. He needed to be the man who couldn't wait to be a father. He needed to be the man who desperately wanted to raise a huge family with Kathy more than anything else in the world. He needed to be the man who'd never heard of Olivia Benson.

And while Kathy was exchanging encouraging anecdotes with the other expectant mothers, Elliot's hand was gripping his phone, fervently hoping Olivia would call him. He refused to consider what that meant, but he knew enough to be disgusted with himself. If Olivia were to call, there would hardly be anything to say with Kathy next to him. Not to mention that Olivia probably wouldn't be calling to say she was sorry for flipping out on him.

The waiting room slowly grew more crowded. The hum of several animated conversations began to wear on Elliot. There were a few husbands among the group, and, looking around the eager, young faces, Elliot had never been more aware of his age. A young woman, so young that Elliot personally felt she had no business having a baby since she looked like a baby herself, arrived and looked around the waiting room for a seat. Elliot felt awful for her, seeing her there alone, unable to even find a place to sit. Something about her reminded him of Lizzie, who he still referred to as his baby girl regardless of her teenage protests, and he found himself on his feet before he even thought about it.

"You can sit here, miss." He felt a satisfied warmth in his chest when the girl smiled at him, slowly sinking into his empty seat and rubbing her swollen belly. He ignored Kathy's proud smile, not wanting to feel like any more of a snake than he already did about what had happened. He wasn't the generous, thoughtful man she believed her husband to be. No, he was a guilty man trying to make amends. He hung his head, looking for the red 'A' that should have been stitched into his shirt. He leaned against the wall next to the door, feeling more out of place than he had in as long as he could remember. He tried not to watch Kathy, tried not to notice how, despite her age, she blended in seamlessly among the women who were closer to her daughters' ages than her own.

Instead Elliot watched the girl, how she appeared completely overwhelmed by the simple forms on the clipboard she carried, how she kept looking hopefully toward the door, how she continually acknowledged her thanks for the seat by offering Elliot a small smile. He was surprised when the door beside him opened to reveal a man about his own age. The surprise turned to disgust when the man, whose silver tinged hair placed him on the higher side of Elliot's years, squatted down beside the girl. Elliot's hands closed into fists as the bile rose in his throat. He was tempted to show the man exactly what he thought of him, maybe even haul him in for statutory rape. He seethed in outrage when the man took the clipboard from her and began to fill it in.

But the girl's voice rang out, in a tone that Elliot knew all too well. "Dad! Let me!"

Feeling like a schmuck, and somehow even older, Elliot closed his eyes and wished he were anywhere else. Of all the days to not find someone deserving of a punch, it had to be the one where Elliot was the most desperate to pound his fists into something.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

A nurse called Kathy back a few moments later. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do – if he was there as the happy father or simply the glorified chauffeur. He and Kathy had settled that they were not going to file the divorce papers after all and that he was going to move back home, but it didn't quite feel like he was her husband. He was well aware that the only reason he was let back in her life was because of the pregnancy which had resulted from a night of weakness on both their parts. For the first time he really started to think it might have been better for them to let their marriage die rather than hook it up to a ventilator for the sake of a child who hadn't even been born yet.

He stepped forward, lightly tapping Kathy's elbow as she approached the nurse. "Do you want me to wait here?" He figured he should have felt stupid not knowing, but he'd rather hear it from her than guess wrong.

She smiled that new, ever-present smile he was really starting to resent since he didn't have the energy to even fake a smile back. "I'll go in for the appointment by myself. You can come back for the ultrasound." She turned her happy smile on the nurse who apparently hadn't quite grown tired of the happy smiles yet. "You'll come get him, right? He's so excited to see the baby."

The nurse nodded her agreement. "Don't worry. I won't let him miss it."

Kathy looked back at him, her hand falling on his wrinkled shirt. "Button your blazer before you come back, Elliot. I don't want them thinking anything's wrong." He sighed. She had noticed the shirt after all. He wondered if that meant she'd picked up on the perfume too.

The nurse was quite amused. "Right this way, Mrs. Stabler."

Elliot slumped down into the chair Kathy had vacated. Mrs. Stabler. It wasn't something new. It wasn't something he hadn't heard before. It wasn't something he'd ever expected to make his stomach roll. He didn't know where it came from, but he resented the name even more than the condescending smile of the nurse who thought he was too stupid to dress himself. Closing his eyes once again, he leaned his head back and seriously considered grabbing a nap while he could.

"Mr. Stabler?" Although the nurse had definitely seen him when she'd spoken to Kathy, her eyes searched the waiting room for the expectant, eager father Kathy had described.

Elliot's sagging shoulders and sleep-deprived eyes hardly met the criteria, but he nodded at her, silently following her as she explained that everything had gone perfectly well with the appointment and that they were ready for the ultrasound. Before she could get too far into explaining what he would and wouldn't be able to see, he cut her off. "I've got four kids. I've been through this before." His gruff voice was more effective than he could have hoped, silencing Nurse Peppy completely.

Kathy was already reclining on a bed, her shirt pulled up under her breasts. An older woman was holding the white device which reminded Elliot of the mouse attached to his computer and smearing pink goo on Kathy's stomach. He remembered the three other times clearly, how happy he'd been to reunite with Kathy after what had once seemed like a terribly long time with the doctor, how excited he'd been at the prospect of seeing his babies, how desperately he'd wanted to protect them, how proudly he'd displayed shiny, black and white pictures of what other people pretended didn't look like tiny black blobs of nothing.

He wondered if Kathy felt like she was pretending too. Maybe that was the reason for her nauseating enthusiasm.

The thought was short lived as Kathy reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. "I wouldn't let her start until you got here. I know how important this is to you." He realized Kathy had been the same way the other times; he'd simply been sharing that happiness, making it much less irritating.

He bit his tongue, knowing better than to mention he would rather have been typing up his paperwork or making peace with Olivia or, in a brutally honest thought, fighting with Olivia.

Kathy's other hand reached over her still normal belly, grabbing onto his arm as well. She said nothing, but her nails dug unmercifully into his skin. The sensation was painful and not at all peppered with the pleasure that he'd felt when Olivia's nails had nearly drawn blood on his back. He shook his head at nothing and reminded himself that it was grossly inappropriate to think about Olivia at all, let alone think about Olivia like that.

The tech flipped off the light, plunging the room into darkness barely relieved by the dim light from the ultrasound monitor. It took a few moments for Elliot's tired eyes to adjust and his memory seized the opportunity to recall the darkness of Olivia's apartment. Coupled with the feel of hands clawing at his skin, it was too much for him.

He felt an unexpected, breathtaking urge to touch her, to kiss her, to make love to her right then, right there. A passion he hadn't felt since hurried, impetuous fumblings in the backseat of his father's car seized him. He wouldn't have even cared if the nurse stood there and watched. He imagined climbing on that bed, telling her what he wanted, taking what she was willing to give, holding onto her for all he was worth. He knew she'd be willing; he didn't question that she'd melt into his touch the same as she had the night before. He nearly groaned in anticipation of her touch, of the feel of her body pressing against his, of hearing her breathless, intoxicating voice calling his name as she arched beneath him.

"Oh, Elliot, look! It's our baby!"

The shock of Kathy's voice, when he'd so foolishly expected Olivia's, made him jump. It was as though Kathy had walked in on them, on his private fantasy. Her words rolled through his head, their meaning lost entirely, while he reminded himself that he wasn't in Olivia's bedroom, that he was with his wife, that he was looking at a picture of his new baby.

Kathy's chin tilted up, her eyes searching for his. "I can't believe it's really happening again."

He remembered the joy, the ecstatic love, the almost crazed pride he felt three times before. His eyes stayed on the screen, avoiding Kathy's completely, and his words were completely true when they fell out of his mouth without a moment's forethought. "Me either." He expected the feeling to wash over him then, finally, when he was facing the image of his youngest child. He felt nothing. The image on the monitor seemed like nothing, at least not anything to do with him. He felt so uneasy at the idea of being unemotional during one of the few times it would have been acceptable for him to feel something that he wanted nothing more than to back at Olivia's, fighting, talking, kissing, fucking, anything. Anything at all.

The nurse spoke softly, as though she didn't want to interrupt their family moment. "Do you want to know the sex?"

Elliot felt Kathy's eyes on him. He really didn't care. He doubted knowing if it was a boy or a girl was going to change a damn thing about his feelings, or lack of feelings. He doubted it would be a good idea to tell Kathy that though. He shrugged at her. "It's up to you."

Kathy shook her head. "I really wanted to know with the twins, but I don't want to know this time."

The nurse was positively gleeful with at Kathy's words. "Oooh, you've had twins? Then we should definitely check for a second baby in there! Sometimes they like to hide behind their siblings."

Elliot's heart dropped right through his shoes. Twins? Again? Was that possible? He'd always thought it was a fluke that they'd had twins, but when he thought about it, he vaguely remembered something about a genetic predisposition. He squeezed his eyes closed and prayed that wasn't the case. It wouldn't really matter, since he wouldn't feel any better or worse either way, but he guessed he'd feel guiltier if he felt nothing towards two babies as opposed to only one.

Kathy's grip intensified as the nurse moved the white object all over her stomach. She seemed suddenly interested in one area, leaning in closer to the screen, adjusting and readjusting her hand to get a better view. The mention of the twins reminded him of the last few weeks before they'd been born. Kathy was on bed rest, complaining night and day about everything. He hadn't blamed her – her slender frame was so swollen it looked as though she was about to pop. Amazed at the idea of his wife's body stretching to protect not one, but two precious babies, Elliot had happily agreed to shave her legs and paint her toenails. He'd been nervous about the shaving, afraid he'd cut her. Kathy had to reassure him, to remind him that he held a blade to his face everyday.

Kathy hadn't seemed to realize it, but Elliot suspected that young man was dead. Murdered in the prime of his life by work and stress and hate and depravity. But even that was probably better for Kathy to think than the truth – that when Elliot had a fleeting thought of a woman's toes adorned with sexy red nails, those feet were not attached to Kathy's legs.

Kathy pulled Elliot's arm closer, turning toward it and pressing her face into his sleeve. He hadn't realized he could be any more nervous, but he'd been wrong. There he was, about to find out if he was the ambivalent father to two new lives, with his wife about to realize that he'd spent the night with another woman. Luck had been on his side that she hadn't noticed the scent of Olivia's perfume in the car; it was too much to ask that she not notice the smell with her nose pressed into his sleeve.

His heart raced. His mouth went dry. His lungs fought for air. He felt like he wasn't quite able to take a full breath and within a minute, he felt a pain in his chest. He swallowed hard, feeling his chest constrict further. He gave up trying for a full breath; he would have settled for any kind of breath. It would be some kind of poetic justice, he decided, if he had a heart attack right then. His weight slumped back against the wall, his arm slipping from Kathy's grip.

"Elliot? Are you all right?" Kathy's eyes searched his face. "What's the matter?"

He was still working for breath, still fearing that something horrible was happening to him. As much as he figured he deserved it for being despicable, he wanted encouragement to continue standing. His eyes met Kathy's, desperate for her concern, her attention, something. But he felt nothing when he looked at her, only the crushing pain inside. It wasn't Kathy's reassurance he needed; it wasn't Kathy's face he wanted to see.

The idea that Olivia's face was the first thing he wanted to see if he was about to die jarred him. It jarred him right back into control. And suddenly, he hated her. He cursed her for doing that to him, for working him up so much that he was hyperventilating, for destroying his second chance at his marriage, for stealing the time with his youngest child, for ruining everything.

But mostly, he hated her because none of it was her fault. Even with her reaction that morning, he knew Olivia hadn't waited all her life only to wind up the other woman of a washed up, middle-aged, father of five with anger management issues and nothing left to offer.


	7. Chapter 7

AN:_ Thanks so much for the reveiws! _

Chapter Seven

It was his fault, he realized as he slumped into the chair that a worried nurse provided. Olivia had been pissed at him for being an ass, but she hadn't curled up and died over it. She'd thrown him out, gotten into the shower, and was at work, probably trading good-natured insults with Munch and Fin. He was the one having a panic attack because he couldn't quash the desire to feel her body next to his.

The nurse glanced at her watch, her worry fading into impatience as Kathy squatted by his legs. "Are you ok?" Embarrassed, he dropped his face into his hands. Kathy's hands rubbed his forearms, unknowingly bringing up more memories of Olivia's touch. "Did you have a bad night? I didn't want to say anything, but you look like hell."

Lifting his head slowly, he found Kathy's worried eyes. When she was trying to divorce him, he'd often wondered how she'd changed so much over the years. But it hadn't been her that had changed. She was still the same woman she'd always been; in her eyes, he could still see flashes of the seventeen-year-old cheerleader he'd adored. Unfortunately, he wasn't the same man. His voice was shaky when he answered. "I don't think I can do this."

Kathy smiled, assuming his words were far less Earth-shattering than they were intended to be. "It's not twins. There's only one in there."

He shook his head once. "I mean any of this."

Kathy's worry shifted into annoyance much like the nurse's. Glancing in the direction of the woman who suddenly pretended not to be listening, Kathy cleared her throat. "Maybe we should talk about this at home."

He wanted to ask whose home, but something stopped him. It wasn't going to help to start another fight. He could backpedal, placate her with some lame story, but he didn't want to lie. He snorted at his ridiculous morals – meaningless sex with his partner was fine, lying was a no-no. He came up with something both true and misleading. "I had a late night. I just need some sleep." As he said it, he convinced himself that sleep would make everything better. Once he got some rest, he'd be able to purge the memory and constant thoughts of Olivia from his mind.

Kathy half-smiled, apparently deciding to accept his answer. She turned toward the nurse when she stood up. "Do you have those pictures for us? He'll want to show the guys at work." Although he wondered, he didn't say a word. If she legitimately thought he'd showcase his stunning ability to father a fifth child, Kathy absolutely had to know the first person he'd show wouldn't be a guy.

He remained mute, using all of his strength to stay there, with Kathy, rather than disappearing into the wee hours of that morning. He stared at her while she scheduled her next appointment. He silently accepted his copy of Baby Stabler #5's first picture. He steered the car into traffic, trying to mentally compute how long it would be until he could sleep.

"Is something going on with Olivia?" The question was so precisely what he was afraid of that he thought he'd imagined it. But when he looked, Kathy's eyes were boring holes in his face.

"What?" His voice was hoarse and, to him at least, sounded distinctly guilty.

"Is Olivia ok? You seem distracted today." Kathy's voice was inquisitive, not angry.

Almost choking on the lump in his throat, he wondered why she was beating around the bush. If she knew, if she suspected, he would prefer her to come out with it instead of waiting for him to hang himself. "It was a long night."

She was silent for several minutes. They were turning onto her block before she spoke again. "You can trust me, you know. If we're going to make this work, we have to start over. Trust one another."

He wanted to laugh. He was the poster boy for marital trust. "What do you want to know?" Once he pulled into the driveway, he turned slightly to face her. Some part of him wanted to run and hide until Kathy moved on to another topic; some part of him wanted her to ask him directly so he could admit it and get it out in the open.

"Everything's all right with work? And Olivia?"

He sighed. "Yeah, everything's fine."

Kathy nodded slowly and Elliot realized, not for the first time, that while he could usually get a read on what Olivia was thinking, the woman who bore his name was a complete mystery. After a long moment, she shrugged. "Ok, then I'll see you on Saturday."

He searched his memory for what she was talking about, but came up empty. He didn't search too hard, though, because remembering anything prior to five minutes earlier brought various inappropriate images of Olivia to mind.

"You're moving home? Don't tell me you forgot." She looked disappointed. Hurt and disappointed.

He couldn't stop himself from remembering his promise to himself to postpone the move because he hadn't wanted to tell Olivia. Facing Kathy, he realized he had to make the decision right then; he was going to have to hurt one of them. Before he could think about it, his mouth opened. "This weekend isn't going to work out." Somehow, despite the disappointment on Kathy's face, he felt a little better.

Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it. "You said her name." She didn't have to specify whose name. There was only ever one "her" they had to discuss in that tone.

"What? When?" He couldn't narrow it down because he'd been thinking about her the whole time.

"Right after you came back with the nurse. You sounded worried." She paused and Elliot knew she was looking for a word to describe how he'd said his partner's name while he imagined making love to her again. "Or something."

At least he understood why Kathy had asked about her. He shook his head, unable to formulate any kind of a response to her implication. "I really have to go, Kath. I'm late."

He backed out of the driveway and made a u-turn for the highway without looking back to see Kathy staring after him. He drove a bit faster than normal, desperate to get to work. Not that he anticipated a good day with Olivia. It was simply that he'd be able to concentrate on something. The horrific cases he dealt with never left any time for his mind to wander. He even dared to hope that, with Olivia sure to be angry, he wouldn't continue to feel the undeniable attraction to her which had been plaguing him since the previous night.

He was quite pleased with himself that he managed to get to work without thinking about Olivia. He hadn't thought about anything at all, due to the terribly loud radio he'd put on, but he saw that as an improvement.

Halfway down the hall from the elevator though, he was overwhelmed by an all-encompassing fear that someone would notice he hadn't changed his clothes. Kathy had noticed the rumpled look; Munch or Fin was certain to recognize and comment on the outfit they'd seen him in the day before.

He was rounding the corner when his desk, and hers, came into view. Just as in the doctor's office, several things hit him at once – that he'd cheated on his wife, that he'd hurt Olivia, that he could still smell her on him, that she would probably not speak to him for a good long time, that she wasn't at her desk that for some inexplicable reason he was terribly desperate to see her. The barrage of thoughts was stunning, causing him to slump back into the wall and draining all the color from his face. He clung to the idea of pulling himself together because he couldn't survive the humiliation of having a panic attack at work. He'd be too embarrassed to face any of them ever again, especially Olivia, since she would know the cause and would likely have a good laugh about it.

Cragen emerged from his office a moment later, failing entirely to notice Elliot's distress. "Stabler, get in here. Now!"

Elliot complied with the command silently, feeling a dread in the pit of his stomach that made him want to run and hide. He knew there was no chance at all that the impromptu meeting didn't have something to do with the night before. He expected harsh words from his superior. He readied himself to use his solve rate to fight for his job. He'd been in the Marines; he could deal with furious men who outranked him. It was close female relationships that he had no idea how to handle correctly. No matter how many women he had in his life – his wife, his kids, his sisters, his partner, he never failed to stumble on the wrong thing to do or say at any given moment. Still, Olivia always found a way to throw him, to get him, to nail him good for anything he did to offend her, intentional or not. Just like her magical ability to blame him for everything they ever fought about, her paybacks were a bitch. And he knew she'd been good and angry when he'd last seen her. Which should have prepared him for the next words out of his boss's mouth.

Except that nothing could have actually prepared him for the next words out of his boss's mouth.

"Your partner just quit."

If Elliot would ever claim that he'd had an out of body experience, it was then. One minute he was standing inside the door of Cragen's office; the next he was flopped over in a chair with his face in his hands. His breath was coming in short pants as he dragged his fingers down his face. He suspected he was supposed to say something, quite possibly something like 'gee, I fucked her and now she's mad I won't leave my wife and my wife is mad I won't leave Olivia.'

Or maybe he was supposed play dumb. He wasn't sure what the right thing was anymore.

Peeking up, he saw that Cragen's initial anger had worn off. The boss was seated at his desk, a look of concern replacing the fury. Elliot tried to sit up straight because, as much of a friend as he tried to be, Cragen was his boss and deserved respect. Unfortunately, the stress and lack of sleep had gotten to Elliot in a way that sapped his strength and he wound up leaning heavily against the back of the chair instead. He still wasn't quite able to breathe normally, but he wasn't about to let anxiety get the better of him, not again.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Elliot?"

Elliot's arms crossed over his chest. His hands were resting on his biceps, feeling the thick muscle tensing in anticipation of the unavoidable doom that would undoubtedly follow the conversation. He shook his head slowly and didn't meet Cragen's eyes. "No."

Cragen leaned forward, some of the concern morphing back into anger. "Let me rephrase that then. Is there something you need to tell me?"

Elliot's eyes fell on the empty chair beside him. Olivia was supposed to be there, getting in trouble with him. He always found strength in their solidarity. Even when they were fighting with each other, she still made him stronger than he was alone. Rather than her stoic face, there was a void beside him. A void that made him hurt more than he expected when he acknowledged that she might never sit there beside him again.

He glanced toward Cragen again. "What did she say?"

Cragen's eyes seemed to sparkle at the question and it irritated Elliot. There was no way Cragen didn't know Olivia's sudden career change had something to do with Elliot. But he reveled in the notion that Elliot was admitting it. "What do you think she said?"

"Honestly, I couldn't even guess." It was true. Olivia had a decided tendency to completely fabricate ridiculous stories when she was trying to flee. Fight or flight. Olivia clearly had a preference for the latter.

"She said she just couldn't do it anymore." Cragen stood up and opted to sit in the chair next to Elliot. "I can't say that I've ever seen her that upset before."

Irritated that Cragen was sitting in Olivia's chair, Elliot once again buried his face in his hands. He said nothing; he had nothing to say. He was starting to understand Olivia's desire to run from things. He was too worn down from fighting all of his life.

"This can't keep happening." Cragen's attempt to soften the words by lowering his voice was pointless, but Elliot couldn't blame him for saying it.

"I know, cap." He squeezed his eyes closed, vividly recalling the blissful, easy moments from that morning. Olivia lying beside him. Her playful words. Her stricken face when he said why he was leaving. He'd been so angry at her that he hadn't quite grasped that the blame was his. Of course running off to Kathy from Olivia's bed would hurt. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid, so self-centered, so cruel. He sat back again, his shoulders sagging from the weight of his guilt. "I fucked up. I fucked up bad."

Cragen did not look happy. Not at all. He did, however, seem placated and miraculously didn't ask for further details. "Go find her." He motioned at her badge and gun, which Elliot only then noticed lying on his desk. "This doesn't go on the books if she comes in on Monday."

Elliot nodded once; it was all the energy he could muster to respond. He had to take a moment to gather his strength again before he could stand up and shuffle to the door. Just as his hand fell on the knob, Cragen spoke again.

"This is the last time, Stabler."

Elliot looked back, meeting the older man's eyes for a long moment. "Yes, sir." He headed back to his car, ignoring the inquiries of his coworkers. He couldn't deal with anyone. He wasn't even sure he could deal with Olivia, but he had to try. He didn't even know where to start looking. He could only hope he'd be lucky enough to find her without having any idea where she might go.

And he hoped he'd be lucky enough to find something to say if he found her.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Part II

"_We all begin with good intent when love was raw and young, we believe that we can change ourselves, the past can be undone, but we carry on our backs the burden time always reveals, in the lonely light of morning, in the wound that would not heal, it's the bitter taste of losing everything I've held so dear, I've fallen"_

_-Sarah McLachlan, Fallen_

She wasn't expecting to hear a knock at the door. She was too wrapped up in her own emotional fallout to consider that the world continued to turn outside of her own pain. She was the only player in her little drama; the rest of the world ceased to exist. In retrospect, she probably should have been waiting for it, should have at least expected that Elliot would try to get in touch with her, but alcohol had the satisfying effect of shutting down her logical reasoning skills as well as the part of her memory that would have reminded her that Elliot usually tried to talk to her when she was really pissed at him. She was sitting in the dark living room, blinds drawn tight against the brightness of the day, sipping unpleasantly warm vodka, and wondering how the hell her world had completely derailed in such a short period of time. She didn't get far into her deliberations on the subject since another of the side effects of inebriation was a shortened attention span.

Despite her attempts to block out all sources of light, some had filtered through. In the dim light she noticed a stray piece of paper sticking out from under the couch, likely left over from when she'd been paying her bills earlier in the week. She focused her resentment with the world on that paper, hating that it had the audacity to be there. Leaning forward, she tried to grab it, intent on shredding it into a million pieces. But her balance was lacking and she tilted over too far, knocking her knee into the coffee table when she fell off the chair.

Normally, she would have climbed back into the chair. Normally, she wouldn't have fallen out of her chair in the first place. But it wasn't normally. Her life was shit and it was her fault, so she stayed right where she was, resting her back against the front of the chair. She figured it would take more coordination than she possessed to fall off the floor.

Her fall had also disturbed the pile of magazines on the table. They fanned out, the garish printing losing some of its cheer in the low light. Still, they mocked her – the various suggestions on losing those last five pounds, on redecorating the powder room without spending any money, on how to create a sumptuous feast with no fat and lots of taste. Olivia glared at them, wanting to throw them all in the trash right then. She wanted them gone. She wanted to forget that she'd ever been so secure in anything that purchasing a stupid magazine and flipping through the pages seemed like something that fit into the special dimension that only she inhabited – where the only things that existed were either things she couldn't have or things she couldn't keep.

Unable to expend the energy to walk to the kitchen for a trash bag, she turned away from the magazines. Her eyes lit on a file folder, pilfered from the office one night when she just couldn't stand to sit there one more minute to complete her paperwork. She wondered how long it would be before someone noticed it was missing. She wondered how long after that someone would come to get it. Because she sure as hell had made her last trip into the 16th precinct that morning, when she'd pathetically tried to endure the misery of it for approximately thirty seconds before she realized she would never, ever be ok there again, not with the prospect of having to face him looming over her, not knowing he would know what an idiot she really was.

But the file brought her mind back to him, which was defeating the purpose of getting shit-faced, so she turned her head to gaze into the kitchen instead. The dark, windowless room offered her nothing in the way of distraction. She could barely make out the shapes of the appliances in the darkness. Something about it comforted her and she wanted to be there, sitting in such blackness that she might cease to exist for a while. But it was too far away and the truth was that she didn't really want to be somewhere with no distractions. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts. She knew her thoughts weren't going to be nice to her.

Giving up on finding anything to look at, she grabbed her coffee mug, which for the moment was serving as a shot glass, and took a long swallow of vodka. The taste made her stomach roll and her attempt to stifle the gag reflex caused her to start coughing. Staring into the mug, she wondered why something that was supposed to be tasteless and odorless tasted and smelled so much. She wondered how her mother had been able to spend her life submerged in the pungent liquid. A smile graced her lips as she thought of her mother, particularly how she might have actually been proud of her daughter in that moment. Sprawled on the floor of her living room in the middle of a work day, hating herself and her life, fully planning to drink until it stopped hurting or until she passed out, which, she conceded, were probably one in the same.

Something told her that it was a good thing she was on the floor since there'd be less distance to fall when she passed out.

Because really, she couldn't reasonably fathom the pain ceasing any time soon.

The knock drifted through her consciousness like a nagging thought she couldn't quite grasp. It must have stopped. Few people she knew, with the notable exclusion of Elliot, would bang continuously on a door until it opened. She knew Elliot was busy picking out wallpaper for the nursery in the house he'd been kicked out of two years earlier. So the knocking must have stopped and restarted. She glared at her mug, knowing her fit of coughing must have clued the visitor in on her presence.

Ruling out Elliot as a possibility, she was left with two options for who was trying to torture her. The first was Dean Porter, Special Agent Can't Take a Hint. She didn't want to face Dean. She'd hated him when he'd been her handler in Oregon. Every time she'd seen him, she desperately wanted to deck him, to wipe that smug smirk off his face with her knuckles. After determining that he was a decent guy, she changed her mind about wanting to hit him, but there was still something about him that made her a little uncomfortable, namely the way he'd tried inviting himself to her apartment. Her conclusion that he wasn't an insufferable little shit was still fresh when he'd started calling, asking her if she wanted to join him at dinner or a movie or a gallery opening or whatever he magically found an extra ticket to far too often. She'd stopped answering his calls because she didn't know what to say. It wasn't that she didn't like him; she just didn't want to go out with him and he didn't seem capable of understanding that. And then there was the fact that she never actually said as much to his face because she knew she would probably change her mind about wanting to go out with him as soon as he stopped asking.

The only other person who could be at the door was someone selling something. She wasn't in the mood to buy anything at all. Although if there was a rogue Girl Scout out there who'd skipped school to peddle chocolate, Olivia might just give her a hug.

Deciding that the possibility of candy was worth the effort, Olivia dragged herself to her feet and tripped over to the door. In her excitement for chocolate, she pulled open the door without bothering to check the peephole.

And then she was looking at the top of a tousled blonde head which was staring at its feet.

Oh god.

Olivia squeezed her eyes closed and wished she could disappear as Kathy looked up and forced a smile. Olivia's stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours and had recently ingested twice her body weight in vodka. It threatened to help her out with the unwanted guest. Olivia swallowed the bile and grimaced. Olivia had never particularly liked Kathy. She had never liked the way Kathy treated Elliot. She hadn't liked when Kathy tried to use her to get her divorce. She didn't like that Kathy was going to try to use her to get him back.

And mostly, Olivia didn't like that Kathy had the only thing on Earth that she desperately wanted.

Of all the days for Kathy to pop in to say hi. Olivia thought about telling her where Elliot had spent the night. She thought about handing over the tie she'd found peeking out from under the bed where Elliot had forgotten it in his haste to play house with Kathy. She was really tempted, if for no other reason than because Kathy might be so pissed off that she would leave. And for a brief moment, she wished she'd had the nerve to take the damn tie into work and leave it on Elliot's desk. She could have asked Cragen to return it for her.

Olivia had always heard that women glowed when they were pregnant. Now, Olivia wasn't dumb enough to expect the woman's skin to be radioactive, but she had thought Kathy would look happy. But Kathy didn't look happy. She looked tired, and not in a way that sleep would really help.

"Can we talk?"

She wanted to say no. She wanted to make up a story about being on her way out, but she couldn't think fast enough. Although she was still wearing her running clothes from earlier in the day, she'd long since abandoned the shoes and socks which would have been necessary for the ruse that she was heading out to be successful. Not knowing what else to do, Olivia shrugged. "I guess." She didn't move to allow Kathy access because the door was a vital part of why she was still standing.

Kathy hesitated as she squeezed past, probably noticing the warning signs – the overpowering stench of alcohol radiating from Olivia, the darkness, the drawn shades, maybe even the open bottle of vodka on the table. But she continued with her initial plan and threw the switch for the overhead light.

Olivia shielded her eyes with her hand against the unwelcome invasion of light. The movement threw her precarious balance off and left her crookedly slumped against the wall. Suddenly desperate for another drink, Olivia peeled herself off the wall and aimed for the closest chair. More or less hitting the mark, except for the back of her right shin which would undoubtedly display an angry purple bruise, Olivia grabbed her mug and threw back another long sip.

The drink gave her strength to speak. "Want a drink?" She wasn't actually planning on sharing her alcohol, but she wasn't sure if she was supposed to know about the baby and so pretended she didn't.

In all her self-centered glory, Kathy proudly patted her flat stomach and shook her head. "Alcohol is bad for the baby."

A flippant thought occurred to Olivia and she almost gave it voice, almost mentioned that getting pregnant at her age didn't bode well for the baby either, but the words seemed too complicated to string together.

"I'd love some water though." Kathy lowered herself onto the couch, one hand gripping the armrest while the other protectively cradled the imaginary belly of a woman nine months further on.

Olivia snorted and took another sip of vodka, ignoring the request. The list of things Olivia would have loved would have taken years to enumerate. There was no way she could make it to the kitchen if she wanted a bottle of water herself. There was no chance in hell she'd make the attempt for Kathy Stabler. It wasn't like she was going to have to face a disappointed Elliot since she had no immediate plans of ever seeing him again.

Kathy waited, obviously expecting something in the way of an explanation why she had not received her requested water. Eventually the silence got to her and she started chattering nervously. "You guys must have had a terrible night. Elliot looked just awful today. I thought he must have slept in his clothes."

Olivia snorted again, wondering what Kathy would do if she explained that Elliot hadn't slept in any clothes at all, but that his neatly pressed suit had spent the night discarded on the floor of her bedroom where she'd tossed it after she'd stripped it from his all too willing body. The dismay she could imagine was encouraging, but when she opened her mouth, rather than words, a giggle escaped. Seeing Kathy's confused expression, Olivia tried words again. "Oh, yeah, it was unbelievable." And it had been, just not in the way Kathy was thinking. Olivia buried her snicker in her mug as she took another sip.

"I need to talk to you about Elliot."

Olivia had figured as much. She wasn't sure when she'd really started to despise Kathy; it had somehow happened long before she'd fallen in love with Kathy's husband. Of course, when she thought about it, hating Kathy might have been the first sign. The idea that she was completely in love with Elliot had only occurred to her the night before, unexpectedly when she was counseling him to discuss his paternity issues with his wife. Saying the words out loud, telling him he would be better off talking to his wife about something, acknowledging that he still had a wife, had hurt terribly. And in that unexpected pain, she'd known the source instantly. As soon as it occurred to her, everything else began to make sense and she knew it had to be true.

The only problem was that he was going back to his wife. She'd had two years to come to grips with the idea that she loved him when he'd been separated. Instead she had to realize it when he was moving back in with his family. She had to congratulate herself for her magnificent timing. It was beyond spectacular, really.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: _Comments welcome! Thanks for reading._

Chapter Nine

She took another sip to drown out the thought. As long as she'd known Elliot, she and Kathy had existed in parallel worlds with Elliot being the only point of intersection. Elliot had always been the man who didn't take his work home and didn't bring his personal life to the office. Elliot had always kept Olivia and Kathy in different realms, which could have been insight into the fact that they were so different they would never get along or it might have simply been that he didn't want them ganging up on him. It wasn't like Olivia could ever ask him about it, not since she generally liked to pretend that Kathy didn't exist.

Olivia propped her elbow up on the armrest and yawned. Considering that she'd realized she was in love, slept with her partner, quit her job, and drunk herself stupid in just over twelve hours, Olivia wasn't sure it would be rude to ask Kathy to leave. She wasn't sure she wouldn't fall asleep right where she was and leave Kathy sitting there alone.

"I need Elliot to come home."

Her words confused Olivia. Elliot wasn't much for confiding in her. Elliot liked to keep things to himself until they were completely out of hand, so in retrospect, she thought it was surprising he'd even told her about the pregnancy. Not that his pregnant estranged wife wasn't out of hand. Of course, the fact that she was pregnant meant that she wasn't really all that estranged, but that pissed her off and she didn't want to think about it.

She glanced at Kathy and realized the other woman was waiting for some kind of response. Kathy expected whole-hearted agreement, a statement that her husband absolutely needed to go home and raise a second generation of children with her, to let himself get hurt by her again. But she couldn't make anything come out. She remained quiet.

Kathy's eyes widened when she noticed the silence had stretched beyond the possibility that Olivia was searching for the right words. It was obvious that the silence meant something, and she suspected she knew exactly what. Her voice was soft and controlled, yet laced with tension and anger. Olivia pitied Elliot for having had to hear it untold numbers of times over the years. But she was irritated with him over it too, because he'd never let her use that tone with him. "Is there something you want to tell me about my husband?"

Olivia weighed her options. There was always the truth, but the pain in admitting what had happened, that regardless of the connection she'd thought they found, he'd gone back to Kathy after all, was too much. Olivia felt tears threatening and took a sip to ward them off. She could always tell Kathy how Elliot had suffered when she left him, how he'd been hurt terribly by their separation, but that he'd survived. Kathy had never realized that Elliot had gotten through it, fought his way clear of the pain of losing his family, and had been fine without her.

She understood finally where her deep resentment of Kathy had started. She'd seen how stressed and upset the strain of his marriage had made Elliot over the years. She'd seen the guilt and self-loathing he'd felt over not being able to be there for his family like normal husbands and fathers. She knew that Kathy had done little to comfort him, that she'd tried to use his sense of responsibility to make him into the man she wanted rather than loving the man he was. And most of all, she'd seen Elliot in those precious months after he'd signed the divorce papers, after he'd let go of the albatross that had been choking him for years. He'd been the same man she'd always known, but somehow better. Olivia had liked unattached Elliot. She enjoyed his easy-going manner and quick jokes and flirtatious smiles, even when they were fighting. Life with him was easier and, Olivia suspected, life for him was easier too, even if he didn't know it.

And there was Kathy, holding the rope and asking Olivia to help her tie it tight around his throat once again.

"Look, Kathy, I don't think this is something I should be involved with." It was as close to telling her she was wrong as Olivia dared to get. Unfortunately, Olivia suspected some of the meaning was lost on the fact that she was slurring so badly she barely recognized the words she was saying.

Olivia watched as Kathy's jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. She didn't like what was coming; she knew it before the other woman opened her mouth. But the words were worse than she expected.

"Are you having an affair with my husband?"

Olivia's mouth fell open. Well, now, that was an interesting question. Her gut reaction was to deny it, to say it was absolutely untrue. She'd heard the accusation, the suggestion, countless times over the years. It was a common mistake for people to make when they saw Olivia and Elliot together, provided they weren't flashing their badges, especially when they were squabbling over stupid things while Elliot picked food off her plate. She'd deflected the statement a million times without so much as a thought. No, they were friends. Partners. Acquaintances. Coworkers. Anything. Just not a couple.

But it was different coming from Kathy. She could have blamed it on the alcohol, which would have been a perfectly rational explanation for her paranoia. She could have blamed it on the fact that she had slept with the woman's husband only a few hours earlier, which also would have been a sufficient cause for her to feel like the world was out to get her.

Neither of them was the reason though. It wasn't some random stranger confusing a man and a woman walking together as lovers. It wasn't a ridiculing coworker accusing them of bickering like a married couple.

No, it was his wife. And she was making the suggestion that something could be going on between them. Something that seemed so preposterous when said by a stranger as to usually cause her to laugh seemed terribly possible coming from Kathy.

Which made Elliot's actions that much more painful. Realizing that she was in love with him made a relationship between them sound reasonable to Olivia. Hearing that Kathy feared that very thing made a relationship between them sound perfectly plausible. But that morning, when he'd asked her if she expected him to leave Kathy for her, his tone and delivery gave Olivia the impression that he thought such a thing was completely out of the sphere of rational thought. And he'd made Olivia feel like a fool for thinking there was even a remote chance of it ever happening.

Olivia had been used for sex before. She figured that by her age most women had had the unpleasant experience of knowing the man that seemed so perfect the night before wasn't ever going to call again. But she'd never been used that way by someone she knew so well, by someone she truly believed was above acting so selfishly, by someone she loved.

Of course, it was only fair to qualify the truth by acknowledging that, with the standard exception of a few teenage crushes, she'd never actually been in love with anyone before, making it thus impossible for her to be used by him. Not that it took the pain away. That was the vodka's job. And the vodka was about to be fired for failing entirely to carry out its responsibilities.

Setting the mug down on the coffee table, Olivia noticed her unwelcome guest was staring at her. The irritated expression on her face reminded Olivia that Kathy expected an answer. Unfortunately, Olivia couldn't remember the question.

"Huh?"

Kathy's face reddened, revealing her fury. "Are you having an affair with Elliot?"

Olivia closed her eyes, decided the vodka was not to blame for not working after all, and reached out for it. In her drunken state, and with her eyes closed, her coordination was somewhat lacking. She knocked the mug onto its side, spilling what was left on the pile of magazines. It took all the concentration she could muster to right the mug and pour herself another drink. For the most part she'd missed the mug and it was dripping when she put it to her lips once again.

Kathy wanted to know if she was having an affair with Elliot. The word affair implied a much longer involvement, and considerably more commitment, than one meaningless night. Affairs involved cards and flowers and dates and romance and sneaking around, which completely ruled out the activities between Olivia and Elliot, unless meeting for coffee at three in the morning twice a year counted. And she didn't think Kathy needed to know that Olivia wished it were different. Lowering her drink, she shook her head. "Nope. No affair."

Olivia expected to see some sort of triumph on the other woman's face, the same sort she would have had trouble holding back if the situation had been different. But Kathy didn't look happy. She didn't even look convinced. But she dropped it. "I need you to tell him to come home."

Olivia sipped at her drink, barely getting a taste of it down. She didn't even want it, but it bought her a few seconds to think. "Wouldn't listen if I tried." She wasn't sure if her words were intelligible at all, so she wasn't going to waste time on pronouns. Besides, it was true. Elliot wasn't the best person with advice, most certainly not when it was uninvited. Hell, he didn't even want advice when he didn't have a clue what to do as evidenced by their little talk in the diner. And if Olivia was going to try, she wasn't going to give him the crappy advice Kathy wanted.

"He'll listen to you. You're his partner." Kathy spat the final word as though it were some kind of insult.

Olivia chuckled at the thought. She wasn't anybody's partner anymore. She looked at the liquid in her mug and knew one more sip would be the end of her tolerance. She leaned her head back instead, squeezing her eyes closed when the room started to spin. The spinning intensified, so she slowly returned to the previous position. "I'm not feeling so good. You should probably go."

Kathy slid sideways on the couch, moving closer to Olivia's chair. "I'm sure you think you know what's good for him, but I'm his wife. I know what he needs. He needs to come home." She was using her mommy voice, the one that told her children in no uncertain terms that they were not going to a party where no adults would be present, that they were not adopting a dog, and that they were not going to get out of church on Sunday. It pissed Olivia off that she was getting it. She'd never had to endure condescension from her own mother; she sure as hell wasn't about to abide it from Kathy Stabler.

Olivia met her eyes in a cold stare. "Maybe you don't know him that well." It was a gut reaction, an impulse born of years of training to protect her partner from harm, even if the harm was the wife and kids he mistakenly thought made him happy. That and the burning memory of his hands on her. He sure as shit hadn't needed Kathy when he'd been touching her.

Kathy's jaw dropped open, her eyes accusing, her mind undoubtedly returning to the question they'd only just settled. "I know what my husband wants better than you do, Olivia."

Olivia wanted to explain how she knew better what Kathy's husband wanted. She remembered the ferocity of that first kiss. She remembered the feel of him pressing against her on the street. She remembered his certainty when he'd suggested going home together. She remembered the way he said her name when he was buried deep inside of her. She remembered the look in his eyes when the rush overwhelmed him, when he'd emptied himself into her. Even if it had been purely sexual, Olivia still knew his desire had nothing to do with Kathy. In spite of the day's disastrous start, Elliot's response to her touch was real. And it was hers alone.

As if to further complicate the situation, Olivia's phone, which was lying on the coffee table, began to ring. Olivia knew, absolutely knew, with the sixth sense that knew when a suspect was guilty, that Elliot was on the other end of the phone. She would have grappled with answering his call had she been alone. But she wasn't alone. She was being confronted by his wife and she desperately wanted to pick up the phone and tell him as much. Except that Elliot had hurt her terribly that morning and she couldn't deal with him, not even to tell him about Kathy, not even to threaten him that she would tell Kathy. Especially not since Elliot had obviously made it to work and discovered her ad hoc career change.

The phone continued to ring until voice mail mercifully silenced it. The silence didn't last long enough for both pairs of eyes to leave it. Elliot never left her messages; he'd simply keep calling until Olivia answered the damn thing, in much the same way he would knock on her door. By the third call, it became clear that he was nothing if not consistent.

Kathy smirked. "That's him, isn't it?"

"It's probably work." Olivia saw no need to tell Kathy that she didn't work anymore; god forbid that would lead to a question as to why that was, which Olivia might just answer in the hopes of getting rid of her.

Kathy nodded slowly as the ringing paused before restarting for the fourth time. "Since you're not feeling well, would you like me to answer it?"

"I'm in no shape to catch a case. They'll have to call someone else."

"Maybe I should tell them as much." Kathy leaned forward, boldly looking at the lit display on the phone.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Not even thinking, Olivia snatched the phone up, desperate to protect Elliot even though she was angry with him. She wasn't so angry that she wanted to cause him trouble with his wife, which she retroactively realized she'd done anyway. Reading the unfamiliar number on the caller ID, she sighed. Kathy could have answered it; it wasn't Elliot. "Benson." It occurred to her as she spoke that she didn't need to answer her phone like that anymore since she wasn't a cop and no one calling her would expect her to identify herself, but she cut herself some slack since it would likely take a day or two to change a habit of so many years.

"Hey, beautiful."

She couldn't hide the groan at the voice of the one person she wanted to hear from less than she wanted to hear from Elliot at that moment. "Porter."

"I was wondering if you were free tonight."

She shook her head, forgetting until it was too late that her balance was significantly impaired. She clawed at one armrest and tried to figure out which way was down before she could answer. "No, I'm not free. This is a really bad time." He was saying something as she hung up, but she didn't care to know what it was. She dropped the phone into her lap with a victorious smile. "Wasn't Elliot."

Kathy looked annoyed. Any other woman would have been happy to be wrong. "You need to tell him to come home. He has a responsibility to me and this child."

Olivia wanted to ask why it was Elliot's responsibility and not her own. She doubted Elliot was solely to blame for the situation. And judging from the way Elliot had reacted when she'd suggested an abortion, it seemed that Elliot had already made up his mind to go back to her. Deciding to tempt fate and her tolerance, Olivia took another sip from her mug and had to fight to get it down her throat. When she'd talked to Elliot at the courthouse, he'd acted like he hadn't thought there was even a choice to be made; he obviously thought going back was the only option. And there was his wife, demanding that Olivia try to guilt him into what Kathy wanted when he was already suckered into doing it.

Olivia took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the stomach she'd thoroughly pissed off with that last sip. "If you want him to move home, take it up with him."

"I need your help." Kathy rubbed her stomach, switching to the friendly approach suddenly. "We need your help."

The motherly act didn't help to settle Olivia's stomach at all. Standing up, she pointed at the door as her forgotten phone tumbled onto the floor. "I'm not involved in this and I'm not getting involved."

Kathy stood up too, narrowing her eyes and putting her hands on her hips. "Then he's seeing someone else? Is that what you don't want to tell me?"

"What?" The words didn't process. Even though she had a specific case that proved otherwise, thoughts of Elliot and cheating still didn't go together in her mind.

"He must be seeing someone. I assumed it was you after he said your name this morning."

Olivia's eyes widened the slightest bit. The conversation was moving too quickly and she couldn't keep up. "Go home, Kathy." The problem with conversations that moved too quickly was that Olivia tended to accidentally say incriminating things.

"He reeked of perfume this morning too. In fact," Kathy picked up Olivia's jacket which had been thrown over the back of the couch and held it to her nose. "He must be seeing someone who wears your perfume."

Olivia's cheeks burned, more in pain than anger. She didn't want to be reminded. She didn't want to think about it. It was the only way to keep the pain from getting in. She shook her head, not so much trying to protect Elliot anymore as she was trying to protect herself. "No. We were in the car all night. It must have rubbed off on him."

Kathy dropped the coat and met Olivia's eyes once again. "If he's not seeing someone, then why won't he come home?"

Olivia shrugged. Elliot hadn't seemed like he didn't want to go home when they'd spoken about it briefly. He'd only said they hadn't picked a date yet. "If you tell him when you want him to move, I'm sure he'll comply." Because really, the man had abandoned a woman who would have been perfectly interested in continuing where they'd left off in order to drive his wife to the doctor. The thought alone upset Olivia's stomach even more.

"We've had the whole thing planned for two weeks. He was coming home tomorrow. He told me he'd gotten rid of his furniture and had people coming by to see his apartment."

Olivia's stomach flipped violently and she put her hand to her mouth for fear she would be sick right then. She shook her head, unable to stop the tears that came out of nowhere. "No. That's not true."

Fury reflected in Kathy's eyes again. "I had to bribe Kathleen to rearrange her plans to help him move. I think I would remember what day she was supposed to be helping him."

Her stomach refused to be silent anymore. Hurrying to the bathroom drunk was not an easy task. She tripped several times, bruising various parts of her body along the way. She barely made it in time to empty her stomach. Thankfully, the activity kept her mind from processing Kathy's words. As she gulped handfuls of water from the tap in the sink, the words rolled through her head. He'd lied to her. Lied. To her face. She never would have slept with him, regardless of her feelings, if she'd known the son of a bitch had solid plans in place to move back in with his wife. And some part of her wondered if he'd known that when he told her otherwise.

Not telling her was one thing; she was used to that. She would even admit that they had a terrible history of mutually leaving important details out. But not telling wasn't the same as lying. She'd never believe that omission was equal to deliberately saying something inaccurate. He'd looked her in the eyes and lied. Olivia sat back, resting against the side of the bathtub. She didn't have the energy to sob, but that didn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Olivia?" Kathy's timid voice came from the doorway of the bathroom, where she stood holding a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. "I found these in the kitchen. They might help." She stepped forward cautiously, squatting down to set the glass and the bottle on the blue carpet beside Olivia. "Do you need help getting up?"

Olivia looked at her rival, realizing for the first time that Kathy wasn't to blame. Kathy had turned to her in desperation, looking for comfort and reassurance. It wasn't her fault that Olivia was in love with her husband. It wasn't her fault that her husband had cheated on her.

Olivia shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears for the other woman as well. "I think I better stay here for a while."

Kathy nodded and stood, returning to the doorway. "I shouldn't have accused you of-" She paused, looking down at her hands. "I'm sorry." And then she walked away.

As soon as she heard the front door close, Olivia started to wonder if she should have told Kathy the truth.

It took a long time for her to even formulate an idea of what to do next. Her initial plan of avoiding Elliot at all costs was proving to be easy enough; however, it didn't provide much detail regarding what she should do with herself while she was avoiding him. By the time she'd decided on a course of action, the nausea had fortunately passed.

Painful as it would be to admit it, Olivia knew she could deal with it if Elliot had simply used her for sex. She wouldn't like it and she certainly wouldn't ever forgive him, but she could accept it. It didn't seem like something he would do, but she'd witnessed him apparently doing so, which made it a bit more feasible. Besides that possibility, there was something else Olivia had to work through. Elliot had obviously lied. Either to her or to Kathy, but he'd told different stories to them and clearly one of them could not be true.

Using her body for his pleasure was bad enough. If he'd lied to her in order to do so, that was simply unforgivable. Beyond even the homicidal rage she expected she'd eventually feel about it, the idea that such a thing was even possible stunned and sickened her. She couldn't believe it quite yet, so the anger and pain and real emotion couldn't set in.

One thing was clear, even in her inebriated state: she had to know if he'd lied to her. And there was only one way to find out, since she couldn't reasonably expect a liar to admit to having lied if that were the case. Loathe as she was to find out, she knew she had to.

It took all the strength she could muster to scrape herself off the floor. She almost changed her mind when she had to face the idea of getting dressed in something a little more appropriate. Unable to put much effort into it, she settled on the jeans and sweater she'd been wearing the previous night, since they were still lying in a messy heap on the floor by her bed. Rationalizing that it was easier than opening drawers, she tried to block out the memories of Elliot's hands pulling the hem of the sweater of her head, his fingers deftly working the button of her jeans. The feelings that accompanied the memories overwhelmed her while she contemplated her bra. She couldn't stop the image of Elliot sliding the straps down her arms while chasing them with his lips, nor could she ignore the vivid memory of his hands working the clasp, sliding the lacy fabric off of her completely while his hands and eyes and lips explored the newly revealed territory.

With a choked cry, bitten back by sheer pride, she threw the offending garment across the room. She couldn't imagine ever putting it back on, let alone just then. She decided to forego a bra altogether and pulled her clothes on as quickly as her impaired coordination would allow her. Her eyes held tight to the hallway, refusing to see anything else, ignoring the bed that would bring back more memories she wasn't emotionally equipped at the moment to deal with.

With a determination that strong-armed the hurt out of the way, she pulled on her jacket and the darkest sunglasses she owned to head outside. Her emotional collapse could wait; she resolved to find out the truth before she went back to her breakdown. She ignored the dread that built in her stomach with every step she took toward his apartment. The buzz of the alcohol was gone, leaving only a dehydrated fog in her mind. She stopped at a vendor to get some water, but she was only able to sip at it. Although empty, her stomach threatened retaliation at the attempt to put anything in it.

Her speed slowed incrementally; she was barely lifting her feet off the ground by the time she reached his block. Her eyes fell on the steps into Elliot's building, bringing to mind the night they'd sat on those steps and made peace. It had only been a few months earlier when they'd been starting over; now, they were just over.

She allowed herself a moment to feel the pain of it. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and entered the building without another thought. Climbing the steps to the second floor resolutely, she talked herself into possibly giving him another chance. If he hadn't lied, if maybe he'd only made a colossal mistake that morning, if he felt bad for hurting her and wanted to apologize, she might be able to forgive him. Maybe. But first, she needed to know if he'd lied.

She knocked on his door, bracing herself for the unlikely possibility that he'd called off sick and was sitting inside. She prayed that wasn't the case since she didn't have any plans for that contingency, short of running for the stairs. Her knock echoed loudly, but he didn't answer. She raised her hand and knocked again, a bit harder to negate any chance that he was inside and hadn't heard.

She heard a door open and close downstairs and then a voice from the bottom of the staircase.

"You here to look at it?"

Her heart dropped as she peeked down at the gray-haired man below. "Yeah."

"I'll be right up."

"Thanks." She tried to smile, but it wouldn't come out. Still, she tried to keep herself calm. Just because he'd listed the place didn't mean he'd lied. Even if the plan to move home was only vague, he would need to get rid of his place eventually.

The super came up the stairs slowly, giving Olivia more time to study him than she needed. He was a short man, with a head full of curly gray hair. He favored his right leg as he limped along. Something about him, probably his easy smile and twinkling eyes, gave her the impression that he was younger than his haggard appearance initially led her to believe. Olivia guessed that he was only in his mid-fifties, despite his grandfatherly looks. Rather than being creepy, she found it cute when he winked at her. She wished she was really there to look for an apartment. There was something about him that made her comfortable. She'd have like to have him looking out for her in some way. She wanted someone like him in her life, someone she could run to in her current situation, someone who would give her a hug and offer her some stupid platitude about everything working out for the best.

"The guy who lives here is pretty quiet, not home much. The place is in great shape." He swung the door open and motioned for Olivia to go ahead.

She made another attempt at a smile, but it died quickly as she glanced around. The couch sat against the living room wall. Elliot's duffle bag sat on top of it, a few clothes spilling out of the unzipped top. His sneakers were sitting on the floor in front of the couch. But that was it. The rest of the room was empty.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: _Reviews make my day! Keep 'em coming!_

Chapter Eleven

She had to work hard to swallow the lump in her throat. The super waited at the door while she walked through the living room, which served her well since he'd probably want to know why she was crying. Sick, twisted curiosity propelled her through the kitchen and hallway and bedroom. There was less in each room than had been in the living room, except for the sealed boxes filling the dining room. Her face twisted angrily into a scowl as she recalled his comment about when he was moving home.

"I don't know my ass," she grumbled at the wall. She was tempted to kick it as well, but she knew that would wind up hurting her more than it would Elliot. It seemed that everything wound up hurting her more than it did Elliot. Probably because, beyond work, Elliot didn't really give two shits about her.

She put a hand to her mouth as if to hold back the sobs physically. Of course he hadn't lied to his wife. She was his wife. He'd made it clear that his family was his whole life. Silly her. She'd thought his job figured in there somewhere. She knew that it didn't, not really. His job was a means to an end, a way to make a living for his family, for his kids, for his wife. He worked in order to provide for them. Olivia was just a part of the job, something that came with the territory.

"Miss? Are you all right?" The super had noticed her absence and found her leaning against the empty bedroom wall.

She shook her head. No, she wasn't all right. Sniffling, and embarrassed to be doing so in front of a stranger, she opened her mouth and said words that were intended to be an excuse, but wound up being more accurate than she'd realized. "I just lost someone very close to me."

He stepped closer, patting her shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that. If it'll help, I'll knock fifty bucks off the rent."

She couldn't stifle the giggle that suddenly erupted. Fifty bucks wasn't going to do a damn thing for her, but she didn't want to ruin the poor guy's day. "I'll have to get back to you."

"I'm Joe. Just give me a call if you have any questions." Joe handed her a card with his name and number.

She accepted it as gracefully as she could knowing that she was never going to see him again. "Thanks, Joe." She forced a smile and led the way to the door. "I should be going."

Not that she had anywhere to go. She knew Elliot was going to look for her, if for no other reason than to yell at her for allowing him to be blindsided by her resignation. He always expected her to warn him when she was so pissed off at him that she was going to do something irrational. Someday he would figure out that would defeat the purpose.

Olivia needed to find somewhere to hide out. Her apartment was dangerous for several reasons – the memories of the previous night, the knowledge that Elliot would look there first, the fact that being utterly alone seemed suddenly like a bad idea. There was no doubt in her mind that Elliot was going to try her place at least once. In fact, the odds were that he'd sit in the hallway or on the stairs and wait for her since he wouldn't have anywhere else to look for her. It struck her as odd that he hadn't called yet, since he must have gotten the news from Cragen by then.

She felt her pockets for her phone, realizing that she must have left it at home when she came up empty. Although the memory was hazy due to having been five or so sheets to the wind at the time, she vaguely recalled speaking to Porter and Porter's ridiculous number of phone calls. She was certain that he hadn't actually tried that many times, that timing and fate had smiled on her when she answered the phone. She was sure that Elliot had been the one calling her continuously and it could only be attributed to blind luck that the one time she picked up it was Porter and not Elliot on the other end of the phone.

Forcing her thoughts from him, she contemplated being unreachable for the first time in many, many years. It had been over a decade since she'd been free of some device – pager, phone, radio – that kept her in contact with the world and the NYPD. She would have expected a feeling of freedom, not knowing if someone wanted to talk to her, if someone needed her to put herself aside and help them. But she didn't. She felt alone and neurotic, like she was going to need someone's help and not have any means to reach them.

Telling herself it was a good thing she didn't know that Elliot was, or wasn't, trying to reach her, she found herself ducking into a coffee shop. She hadn't had coffee in months, but her reasons for swearing off the substance seemed stupid in light of her world falling apart. She ordered herself the largest size they had, selected a huge muffin she would have split with Elliot under any other circumstances, and picked a magazine off the rack. She didn't really care what was going on in the world of personal finance, but she needed some cover for the fact that she had every intention of hanging out until they kicked her out. There was one empty table, a tiny one that was only empty because it wasn't large enough to hold a laptop, and she claimed it, sliding carefully between two business men at the adjacent tables.

One of them was a young man in his early twenties frantically typing, talking on his phone, and generally making a caricature of himself. He was trying to impress his first boss, or maybe, showing off how terribly important he was, even though he was spending his day among other people who were so important that they too didn't need to appear in their offices. Olivia tried to ignore him as she sized up the other man. He was far more relaxed, spending a good portion of his workday surfing the internet while he mindlessly participated in a phone call. She'd only intended to people-watch, but she found herself making eye contact with him. He smiled slightly and she immediately turned to her magazine, pretending to be engrossed in an article about mutual funds.

Any other day, she would have found a way to strike up a conversation. He was attractive, not wearing a wedding ring, and occasionally looking in her direction. But having so recently realized that her best hope for finding a man who wasn't an ass was a complete failure, she ignored him too.

By mid-afternoon, she'd burned through three more cups of coffee, leaving her shaking slightly from the caffeine, and four magazines, including the sport fishing one she'd accidentally picked up on her last trip to the counter. The hyper, overly important man had long since been replaced by a pair of girls working on some sort of school assignment. The quiet guy, however, was still there, trying his best to get her attention.

She was desperately bored and wanted to leave, but she was still afraid of her apartment. She'd sworn off the place earlier in the day for fear Elliot would skip out on work to look for her. A few hours of perspective told her that it wouldn't really be Elliot's style to play hooky just to talk to her, but as the day wore on, the odds were better that he was done work for the day and would be spending his evening trying to locate her. She wasn't quite to the point where she'd decided to call Joe and take Elliot's old apartment because he'd certainly never think to look for her there, but it had occurred to her more than once. She decided to hold it in reserve.

Just as the quiet guy was starting to pack up, she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted to call Casey and see if she could find a way to invite herself over for a girls' night or something. The odds were slim that Elliot would ever think to try Casey's apartment. Unfortunately, without her phone, she had no means of reaching her friend. And she was absolutely not going by Casey's office or the courthouse because the chance of running into someone else was just too great.

Leaning over, she smiled at the man who'd been trying to get her attention all day. "Can I borrow your phone?"

He seemed surprised by her question, apparently expecting another one. He handed it over, trying to figure out her approach. "Are you going to put your number in there?"

She smiled at him as she dialed Casey's number. "Maybe." Luckily, Casey was more than willing to meet up for drinks and even suggested a place. "I'll meet you there in an hour." She hung up and handed the phone back to her curious friend. She felt kind of bad that he would spend an hour trying to find the number she hadn't given him, but not bad enough that she changed her mind.

She made it to the bar long before Casey, since she had no other place to go in the intervening hour. Olivia had already had her fill of alcohol for the day, but she started working on a beer. She had no intention of telling Casey what had happened and, by not drinking when she'd been the one to suggest drinks, she would surely cue Casey in that something was very, very wrong.

It was hot in the bar, but there was noise and a crowd and no Elliot and therefore it was infinitely more inviting than her apartment. As she swallowed the last sip of her beer, she grimaced at the lukewarm liquid.

A new beer appeared in front of her and she smiled gratefully. Casey slid into the seat across from her. "Starting without me?"

Olivia smiled. "You're late." She took a sip of the fresh beer and studying her friend's tired face. "So, bad day?"

Casey took a long swallow of her beer and nodded at Olivia. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Why?" The paranoia came naturally, but as soon as she spoke, she realized that she normally did a better job of hiding it. She followed Casey's eyes down to her rumpled sweater before pulling her jacket shut.

"Besides the fact that you were wearing that sweater yesterday?"

"I happen to like this sweater." Squeezing her eyes closed at her own stupidity, Olivia swore she was going to think up better comebacks in the future.

Laughing, Casey shrugged at her. "And I like my fuzzy bunny bedroom slippers."

Olivia was thankful for the light moment and giggled. "I can't see you in bunny slippers."

"Because I never wear them to work." Casey's face held the expression Olivia recognized from the courthouse. It was the way she looked at defendants when she'd successfully gotten them to slip up or at witnesses when she'd made them admit to lying. It was her 'so there' face.

Olivia didn't like that it was aimed at her. "Then maybe you should. People might let down their guard."

Casey laughed, a truly happy sound that seemed foreign to Olivia. "I'll suggest a 'Wear Your Pajamas to Work' day. I'm sure the DA will love it."

And then Olivia felt herself laughing along and realized laughter itself didn't mean happiness. "Who knows? You might start a trend. We could have sleepovers and bonfires too."

Casey grinned and nodded toward the bar. "Conveniently, there's a guy over there who apparently has some interesting thing with marshmallows and chocolate syrup he'd like to show us. We could invite him to make s'mores."

The mention of a man, particularly one that was trying to get lucky instantly soured Olivia's mood. "That's all well and good, but I've recently decided that men suck. I'm done with them." She hadn't meant to say anything, but it felt good to get something off her chest.

"All of them?" Casey looked intrigued and Olivia remembered that telling part of a story to a lawyer often ended up in unwillingly revealing the whole story.

Olivia shrugged, wanting to backpedal. She really didn't want to discuss it; she just didn't want to be alone. "Only the ones I've met, which means that guy at the bar might have potential. I hope you got his number."

"So you want to drink, not talk. Got it." Casey didn't push, which surprised Olivia. They didn't spend much time together outside of work, probably because their jobs left them angry and frustrated with each other a lot of the time. Olivia imagined she and Casey might have been good friends otherwise. Casey was no more likely than herself to talk needlessly or to demand explanations, even if she was obviously curious.

Deciding she owed the woman something for putting up with her, Olivia nodded at the beer in her hand. "Thanks for getting this round. I'll get the next one." She saw no need to tell Casey that she didn't really want to drink either. Casey would probably be offended to discover that she was only a body, meant to distract Olivia from a hole in her life. And when she thought about it, she felt bad, since she herself had been used in much the same way the night before.

"No problem. Just promise me that you don't have the flu."

"What?"

Casey tried to hide a smile behind her beer bottle. "Yeah, I didn't think you knew anything about it when you called me. Munch said you were in this morning, looked like shit and left all of a sudden." Casey looked at her carefully. "And while I agree with the 'look like shit' assessment, you don't necessarily look sick."

Olivia cursed under her breath. She hadn't given any thought to what rumors might spread about her absence, but she'd assumed Cragen would have to tell someone where she was – although she'd have expected him to tell the truth rather than make up something strange. And of course Casey wasn't going to drop what was clearly a cover story. It was too much to ask. "No, I don't have the flu."

Casey seemed pleased with the lack of argument. "Which means that Elliot probably didn't go home sick with the flu either, since you clearly didn't give it to him."

Olivia felt her blood boil, followed by the telltale burning of her cheeks as a blush spread across them. She could barely choke out words. "Exactly how would I have given him the flu?"

She couldn't believe she'd been that obvious. In fact, since she'd been at work for only a few minutes, including the time it took for her to hand over her badge and gun and take the elevator back to the street, she was certain she hadn't given anything away. Elliot must have said something. She wished he were there so she could ask him what the hell he'd been thinking.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

One of Casey's eyebrows rose, revealing that while she'd been moderately interested before, she was quite thoroughly interested then. "Last time Fin had a cold, we shared a thirty second elevator ride and I was out of work for almost a week."

Her cheeks burned more when she realized that she'd only managed to draw even more attention to herself and her situation. She tried to cover, shrugging noncommittally. "I lost my phone. I didn't even know Elliot wasn't at work today."

Casey's eyes narrowed, studying Olivia's face carefully. "Ok, so what's the deal then?"

"What makes you think there's a deal?" Olivia lifted her beer to her lips, taking a long sip. She really wanted the water she'd thrown out earlier. She'd never tried getting drunk twice in one day before, but she doubted it would end well.

Casey shrugged back at her, taking a sip of her beer before looking away. "Because you don't call me a lot to hang out."

She couldn't blame Casey for the irritation, but she had to feign anger to keep from seeming out of sorts. "And now I remember why."

The redhead's attention was focused somewhere behind Olivia, but her mind stayed on the conversation. "Do you want to tell me why you're trying to avoid your partner?" Her eyes suddenly shifted back to Olivia.

She couldn't hide her shock. She really wanted to know what rumors he'd started. It had to be pretty juicy to have gotten all the way to Casey so quickly, especially since he hadn't been at work either. "What makes you think that?"

Casey leaned forward on her elbows, pushing her beer to the side. "Because as rare as it is for you to invite me out for drinks, it's even less often that Elliot comes to my office to ask if I've talked to you."

Olivia squeezed her eyes closed, quite happy that she had stayed away from her apartment. If Elliot was stooping to checking with Casey, he was grasping at straws – likely after he'd pounded at her door for several hours. She would have given in and opened it out of annoyance. Turning her eyes on her beer, she sighed. "He's just mad I didn't tell him I was quitting." She glanced up to gauge Casey's response.

And then it was Casey's turn to be surprised. She looked stunned as the idea worked its way through her mind. "He didn't mention that." She studied Olivia's face once again. "Are you going to tell me why you quit?"

She didn't want to. She really didn't want to. But she remembered that, having quit, she no longer worked with Casey and therefore no longer needed to protect her reputation. If she continued to talk to Casey, it would be as friends, not as coworkers. She swallowed hard, wondering what it would be like to say the words aloud. She hoped it would help mitigate the pain by sharing it with someone. She thought maybe Casey could be that person to assure her everything would be ok after all. She folded her arms across the table in front of her and met Casey's eyes.

"I slept with him."

Casey nearly dropped the bottle right out of her hands. "No." She set the beer back on the table and leaned forward, as though the two were going to be sharing secrets in a hushed whisper. "Damn it, I wish you'd told me."

Olivia was irritated because that wasn't the supportive reaction she'd expected. "I just did. I guess I could have called you earlier, but I was busy having a little chat with his wife this morning."

Casey's eyes widened further, causing Olivia to wonder if they might just roll out of her head. "Are you serious? Does she know?"

There was something in her tone, something that made her sound like she was more interested in the gossip value than in being a friend. It brought tears to Olivia's eyes and she hated herself for it. She didn't want to break down in front of anyone, not again. It was the third time that day she'd done so. But Casey was there, listening, and that was exactly what Olivia needed. She wiped at her eyes, doing little to stem the flow of tears. "You know, he jumped up out of bed this morning because he was late to meet Kathy. What kind of an asshole does that?"

Casey shook her head, mumbling something to herself. "He didn't mention that when he came looking for you either." She reached out and rested her hand on Olivia's arm. "I'm really sorry, Liv."

"I guess he didn't figure you'd help him out if he admitted that he was an asshole."

Casey smiled. "Well, except that's a given because he's a man."

Olivia couldn't help but smile. "Remind me of that before I do something stupid."

Casey's eyes shifted over Olivia's shoulder once again, the color draining from her face as she did so. "Before you start thinking that I'm an asshole too, I need to remind you that I didn't know anything about what happened until a moment ago."

Olivia, still wrapped up in having spilled her secret to someone who appeared uninterested, stared at her friend, not quite understanding. "What?"

Her eyes closed as she spoke, a grimace taking over her face. "Elliot came by to ask if I'd talked to you right after you called me." She peeked at Olivia and then back over Olivia's shoulder. "I didn't know I wasn't supposed to tell him."

She would have cried out in horror, except that all the air rushed out of her lungs. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. She caught Casey's eyes, seeing the guilty look on her face, before she turned around to see for herself.

And there he was. Leaning on the bar, staring at them, holding a beer in his hand, cocky as ever.

Olivia turned back to Casey, her face white as a sheet. "I can't talk to him." She shook her head, not even caring if Casey had anything to say. "I can't look at him."

"I don't think you're going to get out of here without talking to him." Casey bit her lip and looked like she very much wanted to be somewhere else.

"Tell him I'm sick. I'll go out the back door."

"That's not going to work." Casey shook her head. "He looks like shit, Liv. Worse than you even. Maybe you should just talk to him."

"And say what? I'm sorry you used me? I'm sorry I distracted you from your pregnant wife? Oh, wait, no, it was his idea so I don't really think I should be the one apologizing." Olivia looked around the table, really, really desperate for something to throw.

"Liv, maybe you should let him do the talking. Maybe he's here to say he's sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to fix this, Casey."

There was silence as the two squared off. Eventually, Casey nodded. "I'll go tell him you don't want to talk to him if that's what you want. I can't guarantee that he's going to listen." She glanced in his direction once again and then back at Olivia. "He probably figured that out at some point while he was looking for you and he doesn't seem deterred."

Olivia shrugged. "What difference does it make? It's the last time we're going to see each other, so I might as well get it over with, right?" She poured the rest of her beer down her throat. If she timed it right, she could get violently ill right when he walked over. That might show him.

Casey nodded. "Are you sure?"

She wasn't at all sure, but it was better than avoiding her apartment for the rest of her life. "Ask the bartender to send over another beer on your way out, ok?" Perhaps, she thought, her initial decision to drown her sorrows was the best idea. But another thought struck her and she grabbed Casey's wrist as the other woman stood up. "You don't think he expects me to go home with him again tonight, do you?"

Casey shook her head emphatically, sitting back down in her seat. "Honestly, I doubt either one of you are up to that tonight." She tried to smile supportively. "I don't know Elliot like you do, Liv, but he's never struck me as a jerk, you know? I always thought he was one of the good ones."

Olivia reluctantly released Casey's arm as she stood once again. "So did I."

Casey looked at her from the end of the table with concern reflecting in her eyes. "I'm really sorry, Liv."

Looking up at her friend, Olivia nodded. She knew Casey hadn't meant any harm. "Can you do me a favor?"

Casey's eyes lit up, eager for any chance at redemption. "Anything."

"Hang out, keep an eye on me, don't let me do something stupid?" As hurt and angry as she was at Elliot, she knew the potent combination of her closest friend and alcohol could possibly have worse consequences than the innocent cup of coffee from the night before. She didn't want to say it, she didn't even want to admit it, but there was a very real chance that a few more beers mixed with the intense way Elliot stared at her when he was angry would allow her to rationalize taking him home again. Or worse, she might blurt out how much she loved him and have to face his rejection again.

Casey nodded. "I'll be over there talking to my friend with the chocolate syrup."

Olivia tried to find humor in the joke. "I might join you later."

Casey nodded, once at Olivia, once at Elliot, who was obviously waiting for some sort of sign. "Good luck."

And then she was gone.

She distracted herself from the terror of having to talk to Elliot by working the buttons of her jacket. Casey had recognized her sweater, and judging from the level of contact Elliot had with it, he would as well. Olivia saw no reason to let him know more than necessary. He didn't need to know that his betrayal had hurt her so badly that she couldn't even be bothered to find clean clothes.

A fresh beer appeared in her line of sight, much as it had with Casey; however she wasn't nearly as pleased with her new companion. He slid into the seat across from her, his eyes glued to his beer. Olivia took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him. Casey had been dead on when she said he looked bad. And he wasn't wearing anything on top of his suit coat, leaving it obvious to anyone who looked that he had worn the same clothes two days in a row. Olivia felt marginally better to see how awful he looked.

But as his eyes lifted towards hers, she ducked down. She didn't want to meet his eyes. She'd always felt a connection with him when she looked him in the eye; it was the only way he couldn't hide from her. She was afraid of what she'd see there – if he'd be in pain because he'd hurt her or if his only concern was that her sudden career change might force him to answer some tough questions at work.

And there was the simple, scary fact that he'd been able to read her from the first moment they met. She didn't want to let him see how terribly he'd broken her. The beer in front of her seemed to be calling to her. She wanted it, wanted to numb the ache just a little bit, wanted to concentrate on something somatic, like a queasy stomach, rather than the emotional pain. But her hands didn't move and the beer remained out of her grasp.

Elliot stared silently; she could feel his gaze burning into her head, but still she refused to look at him. Instead she tried out telekinesis to get her beer into her hand. When that failed, she gave in and reached for it, tilting back the bottle and chugging half of it.

"Are you drunk?"

It wasn't the question she'd been expecting. Then again, she wasn't really expecting him to beg for forgiveness, although she certainly would have welcomed it.

She was on her way back to drunk, but she wasn't there yet. "No." She had briefly considered lying, giving her an excuse for any strange behavior. But the fact was that she would never be able to convince her partner she was intoxicated when she wasn't. Needing to be reassured, she turned to check for Casey's presence over her shoulder, calmed considerably when she spied her friend watching them from the bar.

"You smell drunk."

She would have laughed if she'd been in a better mood. "You should have smelled me earlier." Her eyes darted up accidentally, as though the habit of looking him in the eye was too ingrained to deny.

His eyes were narrowed and his face guarded. He was afraid of her; she knew that, even though she didn't know why. He was the one who'd hurt her so badly. It made her feel good. No, it made her feel better. Very little was going to make her feel good.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

He took a sip of his beer, breaking the eye contact. "I'm not sure I believe you're sober, Liv."

She tried to fight the shudder that threatened at the sound of her nickname. It was too much, too intimate, too personal for him to use right then. "I didn't say I was sober, Elliot. I just said I wasn't drunk."

He was silent for a while as he considered her answer, as well as the fact that she'd used his full name, a sure sign she wasn't anywhere in the vicinity of making nice. Eventually he seemed to accept it. "I tried to call you."

She shrugged. She'd suspected as much, but she didn't want to mention that one of the reasons she hadn't answered the phone was that Kathy had been sitting in her living room. "I lost my phone." That was the truth; she had no idea where it had gone after she'd talked to Porter.

"Right." His face twisted into a grimace, an unhappy scowl taking over. He didn't believe her; not that she could really blame him, since her phone was usually attached to her hand.

But still, the slight burned because she wasn't a liar, not unless it was absolutely necessary to protect someone, and she thought he should have known better. Her eyes met his. "I don't lie." She waited for him to understand, to hear what she wasn't saying, but his face revealed nothing. "Unlike some people I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He looked irritated, but not nervous.

Almost smug that he didn't see it coming, she was careful not to reveal it with her smile. "Nothing."

"What did I lie about?" He wasn't about to let her off the hook and she turned her anger towards her beer.

With a glare aimed down the neck of the bottle, she swore to herself that she wasn't going to tell him. Because telling him that she'd been in his apartment would lead to explaining why she'd decided to check his apartment which would lead to revealing that Kathy had told her about his plans to move which would lead to admitting that she'd talked to Kathy which would lead to Elliot having a full blown meltdown since he'd undoubtedly think she'd been the one to contact Kathy. Instead, she cleared her throat and took a sip, mentally calling up Rachel Martin's imperviousness to pain. "How'd the appointment go?"

Dismay, confusion, anger, guilt – it would have been hard for her to pick which feeling was winning the battle in his head. She watched as he closed his eyes, his grip tightening around his beer. "Can we not talk about that?" His voice was soft, leaving him to sound wounded.

But she was the one who was wounded and she wasn't about to take it easy on him. And Rachel could be quite mean when she needed to be. "Sure. What do you want to talk about? I know, let's talk about work. You have a new partner yet?"

"Liv-"

She held up her hand to stop him as she fished a five out of her pocket to lay on the table. "Five bucks says you get in her pants in less than ten years." She waited for his jaw to clench and his eyes to narrow. "Oh, wait, no, that was your last partner. Maybe we should talk about your wife. How's the love of your life doing these days? I hear pregnancy at her age is a bitch."

Olivia wanted to hate herself for the venom that was pouring out of her mouth, but she couldn't. There was no way her words were doing to him what his actions had done to her. And she couldn't keep the anger inside anyway. It would build up, fester inside of her until she hated herself more than she hated him, and she figured she already hated herself enough over it.

Atypically, Elliot said nothing. He sat, stone-faced and pale, while she doled out the insults. She expected him to explode, to yell at her, to launch his own attack, instead of sitting there like he thought he deserved it. Whether he deserved it or not, Olivia found it particularly disconcerting that he didn't try to lay the blame on her. So disconcerting, in fact, that her next assault died on her lips before it had even fully formed. Rachel Martin scurried away with her tail between her legs. Olivia swallowed hard and looked down, angry at herself for giving into any emotion in front of him. She wished she'd had the sense to play it down, to force herself to act normal, to play on his feelings without showing her own.

Which was why she generally preferred to involve herself with people she cared about rather than people she loved. Because love opened up that whole slew of private thought and sentiment best kept under wraps. It made her irrational and overly sensitive, things she usually prided herself on not being.

After a long, tense silence, she glanced up at him, only to find that he was staring at the table, apparently waiting for her tirade to continue. It made her feel like shit. "This is exactly why I didn't want to talk to you."

A half smile formed in response to the words that were as close to a vague apology as he could expect. "And here I thought you weren't talking to me because you lost your phone."

Annoyed that she'd shown him any mercy, yet suddenly lacking the strength for another attack, she rested her back against the booth. "I did. But I wasn't answering it before I lost it." She wondered where he found the audacity to accuse her of lying. "I assume that was you ringing the phone six hundred times in a row."

"You didn't check? Isn't part of the fun of ignoring someone's calls knowing whose calls you're ignoring?"

She sighed. "Actually, I didn't want to talk to anyone today. And out of all the conversations I've been roped into today, every single one of them has been a mistake." She sipped at her beer and amended her statement, hyper-aware of being honest in light of the accusation of lying. "Except for Joe. I liked him." She took heart in the fact that at least Elliot looked intrigued. Or pissed. It was kind of hard to tell in the poorly-lit bar.

"Joe who? Porter? Is that his first name?" His voice was laced with something unidentifiable that her psyche desperately wanted to label as jealousy.

Unfortunately, in her short lived glee over his unexpected possessiveness, she forgot that she wasn't supposed to mention her foray into apartment hunting. "No, talking to Porter was a mistake like all the rest. I don't know Joe's last name." Absentmindedly her hand rubbed her pocket, feeling for the card she'd tucked away. "He was going to give me a break on the rent just because I was hysterical."

Elliot shook his head. "So Joe is your super?" Olivia held his eyes, trying not to give anything away while the wheels turned in her ex-partner's head. "Small world. My super's name is Joe too."

"Yeah, I know."

If he'd caught on to what she was inadvertently saying, he didn't call her on it. "Can we talk?"

"Isn't that what we're doing?" The idea of getting drunk again was no longer even remotely appealing. She wanted to go home and sleep.

He didn't answer. He just held her stare. "Please?"

She sighed. She knew there was no point in resisting him because she always gave into him eventually. Even if he was dead wrong about something, she'd always find a way to believe he'd had good intentions at heart. Because she didn't want to lose him. Because he was that important. Because he meant the world to her. She felt her chin tremble slightly and warned herself that crying would only increase the odds of him touching her. Drawing in a shaky breath, she managed to regain a little bit of control over her emotions. "About what?"

"How about why you quit."

"How about when you're moving home." She found herself holding his stare, amazed when she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. He swallowed hard and looked down. She had him. He knew she had him. But it didn't make her feel any better.

And then it clicked. "Son of a bitch!" His eyes were darting all over the table, his head turning side to side, his breathing speeding up. "You talked to Kathy." He dropped his face into his hands and then slowly looked up, raking his fingers over his skin and leaving red trails from the pressure. One of his hands closed around his beer, knuckles white. "Fuck! You actually talked to Kathy." He looked up at her, his face redder than she'd ever seen it, as he leaned forward. "You called my wife? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She grasped her bottle, fighting back the urge to smash it over his head. He'd broken her heart into a million pieces that morning. Even so, she was still willing to speak to him and the bastard had to accuse her of the worst possible thing she could have done. She was seething.

She leaned forward too, getting in his face the way she always did when they fought. "Fuck you!" Olivia hadn't realized she was yelling until she saw the heads at the next table turn toward her.

Elliot faced her down, his anger fueled by what she'd always found to be an entirely annoying level of self-righteousness. "Did you really think telling Kathy was going to fix this?"

She doubted that he really expected an answer, but she found herself speaking anyway. "I didn't tell Kathy."

He continued on, not processing her words. "Do you want me to get a divorce? Is that what this is about? Do you think that's going to make me - that I'll come running- " His words stopped as he stared at her. She wanted to know what he was going to say. Rather, she knew what he was going to say – he was going to spell it out in no uncertain terms that he wasn't interested in her at all beyond what they'd done the night before. She wanted him to say it so she'd no longer have any qualms over braining him with a beer bottle. But he didn't continue. He just stared at her, his face unreadable for the first time in a long time. He let out a breath and dropped his eyes. "It was just sex, Olivia. It was just one stupid mistake. Did you have to tell my wife?"

His words hurt. It felt like ice water running through her veins, chilling her entire body. She shivered as she leaned down, using her hand to shield her tears from his sight. She wasn't going to let him see that she was crying. She wasn't going to let him see that he'd sent her reeling again so easily.

But the pain lit a fire in her. She hated his words. She hated that she'd been reduced to tears in front of a man, any man. She was going to tell him exactly what she thought of his words, of his assumption that she was a conniving bitch, of how he'd expected to use her with no repercussions. She took a deep breath and lifted her head, only to find Elliot's anger had faded without warning and left him staring at her in shock.

Angry and hurt as she was, she couldn't say anything. She couldn't do the same thing to him. She still loved him, even if he was an asshole. "I didn't tell her."

There was a long silence before he spoke, his voice uncharacteristically soft and unsure. "Then why did you call her?"

"I didn't." She saw his confusion at her response and continued. "Your wife showed up at my door to accuse me of having an affair with you." She decided it was better that she'd told him that way, using it as a defense against something worse because, although his eyes burned with fire, she was sure it wasn't directed at her for once.

"She did what?" His jaw hung slack, his eyes downcast. He felt bad for jumping on her; she could see it. But he didn't offer the apology she felt she deserved.

"I really hadn't intended to tell you at all, so there's very little chance of getting me to repeat it." In fact, if she could have gone back and unsaid it, she would have. She didn't like to face an angry Elliot, certainly not when the rage was aimed at her. Repeating herself was only going to result in making him mad. And she was there. It was a bad combination.

"That must have been horrible." He shook his head. "I don't even know what to say."

"It's not that big a deal." She wanted to stop talking, but her mouth had other ideas. "That wasn't even why she was there." She wanted to send her mouth a memo that he was the one who'd hurt her and that it should stop trying to make him feel better immediately.

"What?" The shock on his face was disproportionate to her words and she wanted to know what he was thinking.

"Do you need a new battery for your hearing aid? That's the second time in two minutes you've asked me to repeat myself." She looked at her beer and wished that it was a fresh, full one. She was pretty sure chugging an entire beer could only help her regain control over her speech.

"I doubt you were discussing fashion trends." His eyes moved down for a moment. "Or maybe you were and that's why you're wearing the same thing you were wearing yesterday."

Her jacket was still buttoned and it was too dark in the bar to see her jeans. She had no idea how he knew, but he did. It could have been a wild guess or maybe he just had remarkable intuition. Either way, she wasn't about to let him win that point. "Apparently you get your fashion tips from the same place as me."

He glanced down at his wrinkled suit and shrugged with a hint of a smile on his face. "It smells like you."

She couldn't be sure she rightfully identified the sentiment in his voice as wistfulness, so she didn't back down. "That did not evade Kathy's notice."

"Shit." He leaned his head back against the booth. "I knew it was too good to be true that she didn't smell it. I kept waiting for her to ask me about it."

"I told her we were in the car all night. You might want to stick to that." She didn't know why she was helping him. Not when she was sure she was bleeding to death from the knife he'd stuck in her heart.

"Was that what she wanted from you?" Ever the detective, Elliot was immediately steering the conversation back on target.

"It's not important." She glanced over her shoulder at the bar, wondering about getting herself another beer. Her eyes met Casey's. The redhead looked concerned. Olivia shrugged at her and nodded at her beer. She figured she might as well use Casey's presence to her advantage.

"The hell it's not." Elliot had somehow missed Olivia's silent exchange with Casey and was shocked when two beers appeared on the table.

"Is everything all right over here?" Casey was looking at Olivia, but it was Elliot who answered.

"Yeah, everything's fine."

Olivia was pleased when Casey didn't respond, clearly waiting for Olivia's answer. She shrugged again. Fine was the last word she'd use to explain the situation, but telling Casey what had happened would likely result in Elliot getting decked by two women.

"So you guys yelling-"

Olivia's face burned in embarrassment. "You heard that?" She'd thought it was bad enough that the next table had heard.

"They probably heard that in Jersey."

Elliot sighed, exuding his distaste with the interruption. "Casey, fuck off."

For the first time since walking over, Casey turned to him. "You're just all sorts of charming, aren't you?" Hearing Olivia laugh seemed to be the sign she needed, because she went back to her perch at the bar.

Olivia turned back to him strengthened by her friend's visit. "Were we about done?"

"What did Kathy want?"

"I guess that's a no." She sat back and sipped her beer. His eyes were glued to her face and she wished she could walk away. She knew she could technically, but she also knew that he'd follow her. "If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

"Depends on your answer."

"She told me that you backed out of moving home again and she wanted me to talk to you." She shrugged, trying to find humor in the irony. "Apparently, you listen to me." If it had been any other day, she knew their eyes would have met while they shared a good laugh over the preposterous statement. Instead, there was a cold silence between them. She folded her arms over her chest to warm herself and stared at the table.


	14. Chapter 14

AN:_ Comments appreciated!_

Chapter Fourteen

He sighed heavily. She could see his fisted hands as they slowly relaxed on the table. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I should have known you would never do something like that."

It wasn't the apology she wanted. She wasn't even sure it was an apology. Her eyes remained on the table, staring at nothing.

She nearly jumped when his leg knocked against hers. She tried to move out of his way she found his heel was hooked around hers. His eyes were mirroring his smile when she looked up. "I wanted to get your attention, but I didn't want our chaperone to notice."

She wanted to be amused, to share his smile, but the feeling of his leg next to hers, the heat of his body radiating into hers, reminded her of the way she'd done the same thing the previous night. She'd been shamelessly flirting with him, knowing that her occasional touches floored him. But that had been the previous night. Flirting was no longer allowed between them and it angered her that he would dare. Jerking her leg away from his, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't touch me."

He visibly deflated in front of her. "Can we get out of here?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Her hand closed around her beer, keeping it at the ready to throw in his face. Or pour in his lap, if necessary.

He held his hands up in surrender. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant I'd like to talk to you someplace else."

"Why?" She was no less sure that he needed to be doused with beer, but she couldn't swear it wasn't just because it would give her some sort of satisfaction to pour a beer on him.

He reached out, resting his hand lightly on top of hers. "I want to properly apologize. For last night. For this morning. For what I said a few minutes ago." He nodded in Casey's direction. "I can't possibly grovel in front of her and you definitely deserve groveling."

Her face remained blank as she refused to let it reveal how much she'd wanted to hear that. She wasn't quite convinced that he could be trusted again – for all she knew, he was just apologizing to get her to smooth things over at work. "Why do you want to apologize?"

"Because I'm sorry." He pulled his hand back. "For being a thoughtless ass."

"I hope you aren't expecting any arguments from me over that one."

"Not today." He shook his head. "Not any day, unless you've got a head injury."

When he joked with her like that, in the same tone as he always used with her, she could almost forget how deeply he'd hurt her. Almost. "Where do you want to go?"

"I'd suggest your place, but I don't suppose you'd agree to that." His smile stayed in place, almost daring her to remain angry.

Shaking her head, she felt a smile escape against her will. "Not on your life."

"So how about my place?"

"If I won't agree to my place, why would I agree to yours?" She made a joke to cover how unnerved the suggestion made her. The whole thing was embarrassing – because she realized belatedly that by not agreeing to her place, she was revealing what she was afraid might happen there, which in turn gave away that she still didn't despise him. She hadn't meant for him to know that.

His answer only confirmed her thoughts. "There's no bed at my place."

"But there's a couch."

Intended only to give a legitimate reason for wanting to stay somewhere public, her answer caused his mouth to drop open. He raised one eyebrow suggestively at her and, although she didn't really think he was serious, she couldn't stop her heart from pounding.

She cleared her throat and willed her blush to go away. "Is there beer?"

"You're afraid of a couch, but you're ok with alcohol?" He stared at her for a moment. "Aren't they more or less equal in the liable to end badly department?"

She shrugged noncommittally as she slid to the edge of the booth and stood. "Can I bring Casey?"

He laughed and, in his eyes, she read the threesome joke he didn't bother to make as he joined her. "Maybe next time."

Glancing at a concerned Casey, Olivia shrugged. "Then you're going to have to explain that to her."

"Why?"

"Because she's the bad idea police." Olivia was moderately pleased to see terror momentarily reflect on his face.

It was with thinly veiled apprehension that Casey listened to Olivia's announcement that they were leaving. Casey glanced at Elliot before pulling Olivia a few feet away. "Liv, I have to ask you if you think this is really a good idea or if it might be the beer talking."

Olivia closed her eyes, questioning herself silently as she prepared to answer Casey. "I've only had a little more than three beers. I don't think the alcohol is telling me to do anything."

"I'm not sure I should agree to this, but I don't think Elliot's going to let me physically stop you." Casey smiled nervously. "If you need to talk or anything, give me a call, no matter how late."

"Thanks."

As they approached Elliot, Casey couldn't help but ask one more question. "Should I ask where you're going? Just in case you decide to kill each other?"

Elliot shook his head. "You wouldn't approve."

They tried to move toward the door, but Casey stepped in front of Olivia. "I think I'm supposed to stop you from doing this." She rested her hand on Olivia's arm, trying to offer some kind of reassurance.

Elliot gently removed Casey's hand. "I appreciate the concern and I'm sure Olivia does too, but this really isn't any of your business."

"You guys dragged me into this and made it my business."

Elliot looked irritated, but Olivia figured it was really just because he was mortified. He explained himself nonetheless. "Look, Casey, I have no intention of fucking this up worse than I already have, so you have nothing to worry about."

Casey nodded. "Ok, I'll take that." She shook her head, as if physically trying to remove any thoughts about her friends and their personal involvement from her brain. She looked at Olivia. "Good night."

Olivia wanted to hug her for having been so reliable. She wasn't, however, looking forward to the call she would get from Casey in the morning demanding to know exactly what had happened. "Night, Case."

The walk to Elliot's apartment was uncomfortably silent. They seemed to be back on speaking terms for the time being, but they were nowhere near the small talk level. Olivia was willing to hear him out and it seemed to her that Elliot was well aware their future depended on how carefully he chose his words.

Before she knew it, she was standing just inside his front door. While he was busy turning on a few lights and closing the blinds, Olivia thought about how different the place seemed with Elliot in it rather than Joe. It was more comfortable, despite the situation. It was almost familiar, even though she'd only been inside two or three times.

"Do you want something to drink?"

She might have mentioned beer at the bar, but in retrospect, she had to admit Elliot had a point about alcohol being a bad idea. She shook her head and watched Elliot as he settled on the couch. She imagined it was some sort of psychological thing; some way to make a statement about size. Every man she'd ever known always spread himself out as far as he possibly could to show just how large he could be. Elliot was no exception. She conceded that it was his apartment and his couch, but the way he'd eased back into the middle of the couch, stretching his legs out wide and throwing his arms straight out over the back, left her nowhere to sit.

He realized his mistake or perhaps recognized the confusion on her face. He sat up and shifted over to one side, kicking his sneakers out of the way and setting his duffel bag on the floor. "Sorry. I'm not used to having to share."

Olivia settled herself on the opposite side, wishing she'd never agreed to go to his place. She thought it might have been better if they'd left things unsettled at the bar and parted for a while. Maybe some progress made was enough success. Maybe pushing for complete understanding would end in utter failure.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I believe I was promised groveling." Even Olivia wasn't sure if she meant it seriously or as a joke.

Elliot nodded, staring at the wall rather than at her. "I don't know where to start." Olivia watched as he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I know I messed up." He looked down at his hands, shaking his head. Feeling like a voyeur, Olivia turned away. "I've made so many mistakes since this time yesterday, I don't even know how I could ever fix them all."

She didn't like what she was hearing. It was precisely what she'd figured, what she'd feared – that he was sorry they'd had sex and that he wished they hadn't. All she wished was that it hadn't turned out so horribly wrong. She bit her lip and vowed not to say anything stupid. It would be better for her to let him talk until he was done. Then she could say she'd think about it and leave. Once she was home, she could cry.

"Last night was-"

It was all she could do not to clap her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear that it was one of those mistakes he'd mentioned. Despite her best efforts, tears began to well.

"Unbelievable."

She blinked stupidly as she stared at her hands, not quite comprehending.

"I told myself it was just sex, you know? Just a way to break that tension between us. It was physical. Attraction. Lust. Whatever. I thought it didn't mean anything. I didn't think it meant anything to you until you got mad."

Forcing herself to take normal breaths, fighting to keep them from revealing her silent tears, Olivia felt more pain than she'd ever fathomed. She thought it had to be what dying felt like – the most intense, unimaginably awful pain. Pain that, if survived, would irrevocably change her.

"I kept it up all day, saying it over and over again, but it's bullshit and I know it."

Her breath hitched, trying to hear his words over her internal voice screaming at her not to let him see her breaking all over again.

"If it hadn't meant anything, it wouldn't feel like this."

5


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Something about his voice sounded off and she turned to look at him. Her mouth fell open when she saw him sitting there, staring straight ahead, with tears pouring down his face. She'd never seen him cry.

But he didn't appear at all ashamed when he faced her, reaching across the space between them to take her hand. Their eyes held as his thumb rubbed across the back of her hand. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, about last night. I never meant to hurt you, Olivia."

She nodded, unable to say anything. She still wasn't sure what he was saying, but she wholeheartedly believed him.

"God, Liv, the timing is so –" He turned away, biting into his bottom lip. "You know, I never cheated on her. I never even thought about it. She was my wife and I made a promise to her." His hand clenched around hers. "I had no idea how things could change in twenty-three years. Hell, I was eighteen. I had no concept of twenty-three years. She was pregnant and I had a responsibility to her."

Olivia sniffled, finding her voice. "Apparently, in twenty-three years, things haven't changed at all."

His hand released hers and she wished she'd kept her thoughts to herself. She didn't want to find comfort in his touch, but she had and she missed it.

But then his fingers were touching her face, lightly brushing her hair back. "I thought I loved her then."

"But you didn't?" She felt her heart leap at the idea and immediately hated herself for it.

"But I didn't. I had no idea what it felt like to love someone."

Once again, she was lost trying to interpret his words. She couldn't even decide if they sounded good or bad. Her emotions were too involved for her to draw any conclusion.

His fingers were on her again, under her chin, pulling her face to look at his. "Eventually I started to love her. I cared about her and our family. But it's different now. This is different."

She searched his eyes, desperate for an idea that she was wrong. She couldn't read him. All she could see was his remorse, which she took to be for sleeping with her when he'd only just realized how much he loved his wife. She pulled away from him, stood up and crossed to the door. She found words, but they came out in a voice she didn't even recognize as her own. "I have to go home." Her eyes were filled with tears as she fumbled with the door. She had to get away from him. She wanted to run as far and as fast as she could.

She felt his approach and it only made her more frenzied in her attempt to escape. As his hands braced himself on either side of her head, she gave up, realizing that she wasn't going to be able to get away from him. She kicked the door in frustration and rested her forehead against it.

"Look at me."

She said nothing, just continued to shake from the horror of it.

His hands found her waist, turning her body around easily. "Liv, please."

He was so close. So unbelievably close. She could smell his aftershave. She could feel his breath on her face. She swallowed hard, mesmerized by his eyes. Still shaking, still crying, she sniffled and tried to find words. "Why?"

He looked confused. "Why what?"

She didn't even know what she was trying to ask. Why did he have to go back to Kathy? Why did he love Kathy? Why didn't he love her? Why had he slept with her when he didn't love her? Why had he made her realize how much she loved him when all he was going to do was break her heart? She couldn't pick a single one to ask. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer to any of them.

She wondered what had effectively strangled her ability to deal with her partner, the best friend she'd ever had. But she knew she wouldn't be able to figure anything out with him there, so close to her. She shook her head. "I have to go." She tried to turn away, but his hands were still on her hips. "I can't stay. Please."

His hands mercifully abandoned her hips and for a blissful moment, she thought he would let her leave. But his hands instead landed on her cheeks, holding her face still while he studied her. It seemed like forever before his hands moved again, moving down over her shoulders and pulling her into his arms.

She wanted to shove him away, to declare her independence from him, to prove that she didn't crave his touch. The thought was erased as his cheek pressed against hers, his chin resting on her shoulder. As his hands tenderly rubbed her back, she discovered that her fingers were digging into the fabric of his jacket.

"How did this happen, Liv?"

She shook her head against his. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." It wasn't his fault, she decided. It was hers. He'd never said he wasn't going back to his wife. He'd never said he loved her. He'd never said anything to make her think it would be more than sex with her. She was the one who'd let it go too far to control. She was the one who fell for someone she knew couldn't be hers. She shook as sobs racked her body. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh, Liv, don't." His hands slowly ceased moving in circles on her back, moving back up to cup her face. "What are you sorry for?"

Although his voice sounded as though he had no idea what had her so upset, she knew he could see it. Her feelings for him were written on her face. She knew that was why he was crying. That explained his guilt for sleeping with her. Olivia couldn't imagine why he was going to make her say it. She tentatively met his eyes, guiltily savoring his embrace since she knew he would pull away as soon as she spoke the words.

"The last thing I ever wanted was to fall in love." It was true. She'd always known love would hurt, would make her weak, even from childhood. As she'd grown up, she'd listened to her friends dreaming of falling for someone and she'd never wanted it for herself. She'd never expected to enjoy the feeling of needing anyone so much. The whole concept scared the hell out of her.

Elliot stared at her, his face pale with shock.

She averted her eyes, lowering her head as much as she could with him standing so close. "I'm sorry for ruining everything."

The surprise melted into disbelief as he pulled her back into his arms. "What do you think you ruined?"

She was glad he was holding her because it meant she didn't have to look him in the eye. "Your marriage. My career. Our friendship."

"You didn't ruin anything." He pulled back to stand face-to-face with her. "I'm the one who fell in love with someone when I was already married to someone else."

Her jaw dropped open, finally hearing what he was saying, what he'd been trying to tell her. Her heart soared. She could see it in his eyes, the emotion he couldn't hide from her, but she saw disappointment there too. She worked her mouth, her throat, fighting for words to ask, but she came up with what she knew to be the answer. "You're not going to leave her."

He looked down and clenched his jaw. Suddenly there was space between them, cold where there'd been heat. He dropped back onto the couch. "I have to try."

Exhaustion replaced her desire to leave and she unhappily moved back to her place on the couch. She shook her head, trying to pretend she understood. On some level she did, but she wanted it to be different. It didn't seem fair to find out he loved her only to have him go back to Kathy anyway.

"If I don't, I'll always wonder if I did the right thing. I have to keep my promise to her. I don't know if it's going to work." He reached for her hand again, but she pretended not to see it as she folded her hands in her lap. "I need time to figure this out. If you make me leave her, I'll just wind up resenting you for it."

She turned toward him. "How could I make you leave her?" Her eyes and throat were sore from crying; her body was worn out from the stress of the day. She didn't understand how he could think she had any say in the matter. She was powerless; the decision was in his hands.

He met her eyes, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "Ask me to."

The sincerity of his words sent a shudder through her. She could hardly believe she had that kind of power over him; she'd certainly never abuse it. "I won't."

He held his hand out to her, leaving it up to her whether to respond in kind or not. She took a deep breath and slipped her hand into his. He nodded. "I know."

They lapsed into silence, leaving Olivia to wonder what she was supposed to do. She thought he might expect her to leave; she thought he might expect her to stay. Reading her mind, something he'd always been quite good at, he squeezed her hand. "Stay with me."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." They both knew he was going back to his wife, regardless of his feelings.

He slid over to sit beside her, moving his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. "Just for tonight. I promise nothing will happen."

She was inclined to believe him, but she wasn't sure she could trust either of them. She hadn't been feeling much like herself since the previous evening and therefore couldn't be sure what she would do. "I don't know, El."

"It's up to you." His face turned into her, his whisper falling directly on her ear. "The next time I ask, I swear, it will be for good."

Olivia shifted slightly against him, settling herself into a more comfortable position. Even though the situation lacked true resolution, nothing felt as right as being there with him. She smiled as his other arm wrapped around her, holding her close. "I'll be here."

Don't anyone hurt me. There's a sequel in the works because of my inability to let well enough alone... But in my own defense (since I fear someone might get angry at me), I had months (honestly) to think about it and whee it was going to end. It would have truly killed the feeling and theme of the story to have them planning their wedding at the end.


End file.
